Midnight
by MaverickLover2
Summary: When Bart Maverick's luck and life begin to turn south, he finds himself doing a job he never wanted to take, for a most unusual woman. What effect is she going to have on his life?
1. A Run of Bad Luck

Midnight

Prologue – A Run of Bad Luck

It was pitch black outside, but that's what you usually expected at midnight. The only people out at this time of the night were drunks or gamblers, and he certainly wasn't a drunk. That left only one choice. He was standing outside of the Moonlight Saloon in Craigstown, a little hamlet about fifty miles from nowhere, getting ready to light a cigar. Life had not been easy the past few days, and he was glad it was almost time to move on to the next town.

He struck the match up against his boot heel and the light from the flame was the only thing you could see up and down the whole street. Oh, there was plenty of light inside the Moonlight Saloon, just not out here on the street. All the respectable folk in town were long since in bed, and it was just the useless ilk that was still awake.

That's pretty much what he felt like right now, useless ilk. He'd been on a losing streak that never seemed to end, and it was beyond depressing. He'd been through rough patches before, but this one had gone on for days, perhaps weeks. Nothing went his way. If he had a straight, somebody had a bigger one. Two pair in his hands? The man to his left had three of a kind. He held four kings last night and got beaten by four aces. And he knew it was an honest game, because he'd dealt the cards himself. It all started when he turned down that pretty little thing back in Delmont – the little lady named Bessie Dupree who wanted him to – do what? What had she asked him to do for her? Right now he could hardly remember. But nothing seemed to go right after he told her, with a tip of the hat, "No, ma'am, I'm not a bounty hunter. I don't chase down men for money, no matter what they've done that was reprehensible."

That's when everything started to go wrong. He couldn't win at poker. His hotel room was robbed. The sheriff tried to arrest him for 'lookin' like a criminal.' His horse threw a shoe on the way here and he'd had to walk in almost five miles. And worst of all – Dandy Jim Buckley had scammed him out of almost two-thousand dollars. And everything bad that had happened started after his answer to Bessie was 'no.'

Maybe that was the problem. He lit his cigar and gave it some more thought. He wasn't superstitious, just cautious. There was something very odd about the story Bessie told him, and that's what had put him off in the first place. Odd and not quite the whole truth. His instincts told him that, and they'd never failed him before. Why would you try to hire a gambler to chase down a wanted criminal? The problem was, as he saw it, his instincts were telling him right now that he wasn't going to realize an end to this mess until he went back to Delmont and made things right with Miss Bessie. Even if he didn't want to.

Still, his head argued against retracing his steps. He just had a feeling . . . . . . he reached in his pocket for his wallet, the one with his name engraved on the outside flap. It held a twenty dollar gold certificate. Twenty dollars. That was enough to get him started. Or was it? Under normal circumstances, yes, it was. The way he'd been going the last few days, he might as well light his cigar with it. He sighed. That settled it, then. He was going back to Delmont. To hear Miss Bessie's story one more time. And this time he would accept her offer. Whether he liked it or not.

1


	2. Making Amends

Chapter 1 – Making Amends

It took three days to get back to Delmont, and he was tired of sitting on a horse by the time he reached the small, southern town. He hadn't wanted to make this trip but necessity had forced him into it, and now that he was here he wasn't quite sure why. Uncertainty was something Bart Maverick had learned to live with long ago, and the ride back here had turned into uncertainty at its finest.

The first thing he did was return to the Delmont Arms Hotel and check in. "Mr. Maverick, back so soon?" Jackson at the front desk asked, and Bart just nodded. "Want room number fourteen again? It's vacant."

"Sure," he answered, "why not?" Maybe his luck would change if he had the same room. After all, everything in Delmont had been fine, until . . . . . He took the key from the desk clerk and trudged up the stairs, back to the room in the front corner of the hotel. It was a pleasant enough room, with a nice soft bed and a view of the whole town from the two windows. He unlocked the door and dropped first his saddlebags and then his war bag on the bed, and went straight to the windows and opened them. A fresh breeze invaded the room, and he almost smiled. That was the first good thing that had happened in days.

He'd intended to lie down and get some well-deserved sleep when he got into town, but he saw Bessie Dupree's buggy parked in front of the general store and he immediately changed both his mind and his direction, heading back out much quicker than he'd entered. He wanted to – no, needed to – catch up with the young woman before she disappeared on him. Nothing in his life would go right until he'd taken her up on her previous offer of 'employment.' If you could call looking for a wanted criminal employment.

His horse gave him a glaring look as he hurried past the animal, silently promising to come back and take care of the gelding as soon as he'd settled things with Bessie. Across the street and down to the store he went, hurrying to make the universe tilt back from the odd slant it had taken when he'd first turned her down. In his haste to find the lady he almost ran into her as he attempted to enter and she tried to exit. He tipped his hat as he greeted her. "Miss Dupree, I'm sure glad to run into you. I don't know if you remember me . . . . . "

She gave him a half-smile and replied, "I certainly do remember you, Mr. Maverick. It isn't every day a girl gets turned down when she offers someone a job. Especially someone like yourself."

He wondered if that was good or bad. Considering the turn his life had taken since he last saw Miss Dupree, he determined it to be decidedly dreadful. "Yes, well, that's what I was hoping to speak to you about. You see . . . . . "

"You find yourself in need of the job I offered before?"

There was no smirk or malice in her voice, and he found that made it a lot easier to admit defeat. Might as well be honest about the whole state of affairs. "To put it bluntly, yes. I find myself in great need."

The half-smile was replaced with a full smile, and almost as if in a trance he found himself smiling back. "Why don't you come to supper tonight at my house, say around six o'clock, and I'll explain everything to you? Will that work for you? Mr. Maverick?"

"What? Oh, yes, ma'am, that will work just fine. And where exactly do you live again?"

The smile never faded. "Take this road out of town," she pointed to the north, "and follow it for about three miles. At the fork in the road, turn west. That takes you right to my place, the D Bar D. At six o'clock, then, Mr. Maverick? You won't back out on me, will you?"

He gave a weary sigh. "No, ma'am, I'll be there. You can count on me."

"Good." She seemed pleasant enough, but there was just a touch of something in the way she said the word. It was the same way she sounded when she first tried to explain things to him, the first time he'd been in Delmont. Whatever it was gave him a momentary chill. She turned and climbed into her buggy before he even had a chance to assist her, and in what seemed like mere seconds she was gone, headed up the north road. As he walked back towards the hotel he remembered his promise to the horse and untied the gelding, who nuzzled Bart as if to bring him out of his stupor.

"What have we gotten into, old man?" he asked the horse while walking down to the livery. The gelding tossed his head and snorted, which was as much of an answer as the gambler was going to get. After making certain the animal had everything a horse could ask for, he told Lenny he'd be back around five-thirty.

"He'll be ready and waitin'," Lenny smiled at him good-naturedly, and Noble's head bobbed up and down.

"See ya later, pal," the weary man offered, and he patted the horse on the neck and headed back up the street. Whether he could sleep or not became the next question on his mind, and one that he had yet to answer.

XXXXXXXX

He woke with a start, the way he usually returned to wakefulness after a dream that made no sense, and looked around him. The late afternoon sun coming through the windows told him he still had enough time to get cleaned up, and he rose slowly from the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he stood. Thank God he'd had the good sense to hang his clothes before he lay down to sleep. At least they wouldn't look as rumpled as he felt. He didn't remember the dream, just that it seemed totally off-kilter to him, the same way he'd felt for days on end.

He washed his face and then took his time shaving. Shaving wasn't a task that should ever be rushed; he'd learned that the hard way. He still felt tired – not sleepy like he had earlier in the day, just bone-weary tired. And, truth be told, lonely. He hadn't seen his brother Bret for two months or more, and he missed having someone to talk to and reason things out with. It had been even longer than that since either of them had seen Cousin Beau, but that's what happened when one of you was in Montana and the other two were somewhere in the south. He understood Beau's rationale for 'hiding out' in Montana; it had been some time since his wife died and he still wasn't ready to leave her memories and the town they'd lived in behind. Bart had gotten a letter from general delivery two weeks ago when he was in Galveston and it sounded like Beau was beginning to feel more like himself. He talked about the saloon that he helped run for the four Mavericks that owned it (Bret, Bart, their cousin Jody and Beau) and how he'd miss the comfortableness of the place when he finally when back to wandering. That was the first mention Beau had made of traveling in over a year, and Bart took it as a good sign.

He hadn't heard from Bret since they'd parted company in Waltersville, a town almost in the middle of Louisiana. They'd had a disagreement over a scheme that Bret devised and Bart didn't particularly think would work, and they'd decided to part company for a while. It was nothing significant – they were too close for anything major to ever come between them, they'd learned their lessons the hard way – they just decided to go in different directions for a time. By this time Bart figured they'd been apart long enough but was having a hard time tracking Bret down. He was hoping to hear something soon while he was in Delmont, and after he got his finances back in order they could meet up and head whichever way they felt like going.

After he cleaned and wiped down his razor he walked to the closet to choose a shirt, and found himself staring at his clothes like he'd never seen them before. Nothing seemed quite right to wear to Bessie Dupree's and he finally settled on something that was far more Bret's style than his. It had ruffles in front and around the cuffs, and he'd only bought it because Bret kept insisting he'd look good in it. He decided that as long as the illusion he was presenting was 'dandified gambler' he might as well go all the way, and reached for his black silk waistcoat and black frock coat. Maybe Bessie would release him from the job and he could go back to his nice, peaceful life. The way it had been before Lady Luck went south on him.

Should he take something with him? A gift of some sort, a 'thank you' for giving him a meal and another chance at the job? Flowers were inappropriate; he wasn't 'calling on' the young lady. He remembered the bottle of wine in his saddlebags and decided that would do just fine. One more look in the mirror and he settled his hat on his head, then locked the door behind him.

His horse was indeed ready and waiting for him, just as Lenny had promised, and the gelding gave a nod of his head in approval as Bart climbed on board. They'd been together for some time now, and it was almost like having his brother with him. Well, that wasn't quite true; he'd never taken a bullet for his horse. The gelding seemed to have a nose for trouble, and it was encouraging that nothing appeared to be bothering him tonight. Maybe the sense of foreboding he'd felt around Bessie Dupree was nothing more than his imagination and an intense dislike for the word 'job.'

No matter – this was a job born of necessity and nothing else. Now that he'd expressed interest in the girl's employment offer, undoubtedly things would begin to move forward in a positive direction. He certainly hoped so. He wasn't sure how much more of this unprecedented run of bad luck, or bad timing, he could take.

The evening was peaceful and quiet, and the temperature had actually cooled down a bit. There was a soft breeze that ruffled his hair a little, and the countryside was quite beautiful at this time of year. A swamp rabbit hopped out of the brush, and Bart pulled Noble to a momentary halt. He had an affinity for conversing with rabbits, like the one that lived in Lakota Pass in South Dakota, and he took this one's appearance as a sign that whatever was plaguing him in recent weeks had been dispensed with. They eyed each other warily for a moment or two, and then the rabbit stood on its hind legs and called to its mate, who came wandering through the weeds like she hadn't a care in the world. Two small bunnies bounced along behind her, and all four sat still and watched the massive object in front of them. "Taking the family for a stroll?" Bart asked, and the momma rabbit twitched her nose and hustled the babies back into the bushes. He laughed out loud, something he hadn't felt like doing for quite a while, and the rabbit quickly disappeared. "Goodnight," he called after them and urged the horse on his way. Maybe things were looking up, after all.


	3. You Know Me As

Chapter 2 – You Know Me As . . .

"How nice of you, Mr. Maverick, to bring a gift," Bessie Dupree smiled graciously as she accepted the bottle of wine. "Shall we open this and have a glass?"

"I think that's an excellent idea, Miss Dupree," he answered, and followed her into the kitchen. "May I?" he asked before starting on the bottle.

"Please," she answered, and momentarily left the room, to return with two crystal wine goblets. Bart opened and poured, and handed the first glass to his hostess. "Oh, quite lovely," she pronounced after taking a sip. "I can taste the cherries and blackberries. You have excellent taste, Mr. Maverick."

"Please, Miss Dupree, call me Bart. I tend to look around for my pap . . . father when I hear Mr. Maverick."

"Alright, then, I am Bess. I never did care for the longer familiar of my name."

"Bess it is. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You may escort me to the table, Bart. Selma Jean will serve dinner. I employ her whenever I have guests over. She knows my tastes and habits quite well by now."

He offered Bess his arm and guided her to the dining room, seating her at the head of the table with him to her left. A young mulatto girl brought in a platter filled with meat, potatoes, and vegetables, and Bart was reminded of Lonnie del Cantera in Natchez. Selma Jean was younger than Lonnie, but they shared the same cocoa colored skin and the fine aquiline nose. After the main dish came the biscuits, with fresh churned butter and silken gold honey. Bess raised her glass and Bart did likewise. "A toast to our future partnership," she announced, and once again he experienced that momentary chill that he'd sensed earlier in the day. There was something about Bess Dupree . . . . .

An hour later they were having a second glass of wine with the fresh cherry cobbler Selma Jean had served. "This is why I was so delighted by your choice of wine," Bess explained.

The liquor was indeed the perfect complement to the cobbler, almost as if some little bird had whispered in Bart's ear. _'Another coincidence?'_ he wondered. "Did you will me to bring that particular wine?" he asked, half-seriously.

Bess smiled shyly, and for the first time he didn't find it off-putting. "Must I tell you all my secrets? Speaking of secrets, you are still interested in the job I offered once before?"

"I'll be frank, Bess. Considering the string of bad luck I've run into ever since I turned you down the first time, I am most definitely interested. As long as you're willing to lift the curse you put on me when we met last."

"Oh? My 'curse' seems to have done what I intended it to do." And then she laughed, and Bart made himself laugh with her. Just in case.

"Just who is this person you want me to locate?" Bart finally asked.

"His name is Dalton Dupree. He's my half-brother. And he's wanted for the murder of our father, Hanford Dupree. There is a five thousand dollar reward for his arrest."

"And why do you think I can find him when the law hasn't had any success?"

"Because you've dealt with Dalton on a previous occasion. As a matter of fact, I believe he stole quite a bit of money from you."

"Me? Are you sure you've got the right Maverick?" Bart asked her, seriously doubting he was the man she thought he was.

"Quite certain. Of course, you know him by another name. The alias he uses most often is George Henry."

George Henry? Bart knew that name and knew it well. George Henry had been Seth Johnson's bodyguard, the man he'd played and beaten in a showdown poker game in Cheyenne, Wyoming. George Henry had stolen over fifty-thousand dollars of Bart Maverick's money; money he'd won fair and square in the poker match and then lost when the bodyguard broke into the Wyoming Stock Growers Association office and took it. Every red cent of it. Along with all the money that belonged to the W.S.G.A., money that was earmarked to be used in the fight for Wyoming's statehood. Was Bess Dupree serious? George Henry, the gunslinger, was really Dalton Dupree, her half-brother?

Bart sat there with the crystal wine glass in his hand and mulled over what Bess had just told him. Her revelation answered all the questions he had about why she offered the job to him – he had a personal score to settle, just like she did. But he had questions that needed to be answered.

"How did Dalton Dupree become George Henry?"

"Does that mean that you'll find my half-brother and bring him to justice?"

Bart hesitated for just a moment. "Do you have any idea what part of the country he's in?"

"I know exactly where he was two weeks ago." Bess's expression was one of utter hatred, and Bart was certain there was much to the story that he didn't know.

"I have more questions for you; questions I need answers to. But yes, Bess, I will take the job of finding your brother."

"My half-brother," she corrected.

"Your half-brother."

"Good," she replied. "I'll pay you five-thousand dollars to find him and bring him in, in addition to the five-thousand dollar reward offered by the state. Do we have a deal, Mr. Maverick?"

"We have a deal, Miss Dupree."

"When can you start?"

Bart chuckled, a sorry-sounding laugh. "I think I just did."

XXXXXXXX

Another midnight. This time he didn't feel quite so worthless; he was more angry than anything. And he completely understood why Bessie – he corrected himself, Bess – had wanted him and only him to take the job she was offering. But how did she know? That was one of the questions he had for her, and they'd agreed to meet for breakfast at the hotel at nine o'clock. After breakfast they could go anywhere he wanted to ask the rest of his questions.

Noble ambled slowly in the moonlight on an unfamiliar road. That was alright with the gambler, it gave him more time to think. There was something very odd about this whole arrangement, and he didn't yet know what it was. Maybe he felt that way because he still didn't know the whole story. Just who was her father, Hanford Dupree? It certainly didn't seem she was lacking for money, so he must have left her well-off. She said George – Dalton – was her half-brother. Older or younger? Who was his mother? And why had he killed their father?

There were a lot more questions than that scrambling around in his head, but he knew they'd have to wait until morning. He yawned and stretched, and the horse kept walking back the way he'd come several hours ago. Bart and Bess had spent the rest of the evening talking about his life, her life, the ranch, the town. Everything but Hanford and Dalton Dupree. That, she insisted, had to wait for their breakfast meeting. There must be a reason for the delay in filling in the rest of the story, but she wouldn't give him answers to any of the questions he had left. Alright, if that was the way she wanted it, that's the way it would be. All he had to do was go back to the hotel and get a good night's sleep. All he had to do.


	4. A Tale Well Told

Chapter 3 – A Tale Well Told

Sleeping was easier said than done. It was long after he'd gotten in bed before he fell asleep – and, as usual, morning came much too early. After washing his face he got dressed, this time in his traveling clothes, and went downstairs to try and drink a pot of coffee before Bess Dupree arrived. He was only on his third cup when she appeared in the doorway of the dining room, and he rose to escort her to the table.

"Good morning," she told him, and then reconsidered. "Not a good morning?"

"Morning's fine," he answered. "Last night was the problem."

"Oh, dear, I hope I wasn't the cause of your sleeplessness."

Her voice was so sincere that he almost believed her. What was it about this woman that kept him off balance? "Too much on my mind, I guess."

"Have you eaten yet?"

"No, ma'am, just drinkin' as much coffee as I could until you got here."

She nodded and smiled. "Good. Let's order. I'm starved!"

Just as they were finishing their meal, the town sheriff showed up and made his way to their table. He tipped his hat. "Bess, I see you got what you were after."

"I usually do, don't I, Pete? Pete Trainer, this is Bart Maverick. Bart, our sheriff. Pete might be able to provide you with information that I can't."

"Sheriff. I assume I can find you at the jail if I have questions?"

"That's where I'll be unless I get called away by those Ferris boys again."

Bess offered Bart an explanation. "The Ferris boys are the local hoodlums. There's three of them, and they're always making trouble about one thing or another. Their father's ranch is about ten miles from here."

"Right inside the county line. If I could just move 'em over about twenty feet . . . . . Well, that ain't gonna happen anytime soon. Good luck, Maverick. Dalton ain't gonna be easy to bring in."

"I've already had him slip through my fingers once, sheriff. Some time ago. Once is enough."

"Then you know what yer dealin' with. You folks have a good day. Bess. Maverick."

"Seems alright."

The woman nodded. "Sheriff Trainer's a good man. A decent man. But he can't follow Dalton everywhere, and that's what's needed. That's where you come in, Bart."

"Let's start at the beginning, Bess. Tell me everything you know about Dalton Dupree. And George Henry."

"Right here?" she asked.

"I got nowhere else to offer but my room," Bart explained. "And I don't think a lady wants to be up in a gentleman's room."

"Won't make a bit of difference. Everybody knows what you're here for anyway."

Bart shrugged his shoulders. "Alright, let's go then."

A few minutes later they were comfortably seated by the open windows in Bart's room. "Now. Let's try this again. Tell me about Dalton."

"Alright. I don't know when my father found out about Dalton, but I was around ten when he first made an appearance in our lives. I came home from school one day and Dalton was there. He was a man by that time, seventeen or eighteen years old, and he just stayed. My mother told me he was my brother, and they never explained anything else. For a while he helped my father with the ranch, then he started getting into trouble with the law – Sheriff Trainer's predecessor. One night he didn't come home, and when he showed up three days later my father threw him out and told him not to come back.

"I was almost twenty the next time I saw him. We'd heard stories about Dalton – always using a different name – and heard the rumors that he was a gun for hire. My mother died right before I turned eighteen and it was just my father and me living at the ranch. Dalton came back one day while I was in town and killed our father. I have no idea why. And then he ran. The sheriff tried to find him, with no luck. And with Hanford gone, everything became my responsibility.

"That's when I hired Jack Ford to run the ranch. And continued to hear stories about Dalton – now using the name George Henry – and the men he'd killed, the people he'd swindled. You among them. And when you showed up in town I felt like it was fate. I thought maybe I could convince you to go after Dalton and bring him in. After all, you had a personal stake in his arrest, too. But you wouldn't even talk to me about pursuing Dalton. So I waited, and here you are."

Bart sat and listened to the story, and never interrupted or asked a question. It was a good story alright. Maybe too good. Something about it all bothered him, and he still couldn't put his finger on it, not exactly. It seemed . . . perfect, pat, blame the bad seed brother for everything wrong . . . but why? If that wasn't the way it happened, why the elaborate story?

"Who was his mother, Bess?"

She shook her head. "I don't know for sure, but father was engaged before he met my mother. The girl broke it off for some reason. All I know is her name was Helene Mazant, and her parents were wealthy. Perhaps it was Helene?"

"Do you know what happened to your father's fiancée?"

"No, I've no idea. Mother told me that when she met father they fell in love almost immediately, and were married within six months. And when they first met he was no longer engaged to Helene."

"Where were they living at the time?"

"In New Orleans. Mother's last name was Baptiste. Gabriela Baptiste. She was born and raised in New Orleans. I have no idea how or why they ended up here in Delmont, but this is where I was born. I don't know about Dalton."

Bart shifted in his chair. "And you have no idea why your brother turned to the gun as a way to make a livin'?"

"Half-brother, Bart. Let's be very clear about that. Dalton is my half-brother."

That was definitely a sore point for Bess. "Sorry. Half-brother."

"No, I don't know. He used to practice out back for hours at a time. He got real good at it; after he started getting into trouble it seemed like he didn't want to work anymore. If I asked why he just laughed and said there were lots of ways to make money that didn't require breaking your back. You sounded just like him when we first met."

Bart got up and walked around the room. He pulled out a cigar and turned back to Bess Dupree. "Do you mind?" he asked. She shook her head 'no.' "That's the way I was raised. Pappy is a gambler. My brother Bret is a gambler. My cousin; my uncle. There's easier ways to make a livin' than physical labor. Killin' people ain't one of 'em. Neither is stealin'. Wasn't Dalton in the will? Didn't he inherit anything when Hanford died?"

"No. When Hanford threw him out, Dalton was disinherited. When father died, Dalton got nothing. He knew that." She paused for a moment, mulling something over. "I think he knew that. But I can't be sure."

Bart took a draw on the cigar and sat back down. As he blew the smoke out, he had one last question. "You said you knew exactly where he was two weeks ago. Where was that?"

"He was in Lake Charles, Louisiana. For all I know he might still be there. I heard rumors that he has a wife, and a son, that know nothing about George Henry or the life that George Henry leads. They think Dalton's a cotton broker. That's how he explains being absent for so long."

"If you knew where he was, why didn't you turn him into the law in Louisiana?"

"I tried. In the state of Louisiana, he's a law-abiding citizen. They don't seem interested in what he may have done in any other state."

He smoked the last of the cigar and put it out. "You're sure this is what you wanna spend your money on?"

She nodded vigorously, and there was a look on her face again, this time one of disdain, mixed with disgust and hate. And then, at last, a smile that indicated her certainty in the pursuit of her brother. Her half-brother.

"Absolutely, Mr. Maverick. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. That is precisely what I want to spend my money on."

Bart nodded. He knew exactly where to begin.


	5. The Will

Chapter 4 – The Will

After Bess Dupree left he did some thinking, mulling over the facts he'd learned from the girl. Finally satisfied that he'd gotten all the information he could from her, at least for now, he decided to visit Pete Trainer and see what the sheriff could tell him that Bess couldn't or wouldn't. He found the lawman perusing the latest 'Wanted' posters and waited until Trainer looked up before saying anything.

"Well, Mr. Maverick, I didn't expect to see you down here so soon. Somethin' I can help you with?"

"That depends, sheriff. What can you tell me about Dalton Dupree? Or his persona, George Henry?"

Trainer sat back in his chair and took a long look at the man in front of him. "Not satisfied with what you heard from Bess?"

"I got the feelin' she's leavin' somethin' out."

"And you think I can fill you in?"

"I do," Bart nodded. He sat down in the chair next to the sheriff's desk. "Can you?"

The sheriff hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Probably. What did she tell you?"

"Oh, just the basics. Bastard son turns up out of nowhere, works for a while, goes bad, sponges off the family, gets thrown out, comes back an kills Pa. You know, your average story. What am I missin'?"

"Did she tell you about the beatings, or the shouting matches, or the abuse?"

"No, those parts got left out. Who was doin' what?"

"You gotta understand this. Hanford Dupree was like two different people. The way he treated his daughter was different than the way he treated his son. Bess never saw the side of him he showed to Dalton."

"And you did?"

"Hanford was a friend a mine. That don't mean I approved of the way he treated the boy. Wasn't right, that's just the way it was. Dalton didn't help himself none, the way he started with the drinkin' an hangin' out with the Lester gang. When Hanford had an excuse, he finally threw the kid out. Dalton moved in with the Lester's, got real good with his guns. Started disappearin' for longer an longer at a time. Heard rumors about him gettin' into one thing or another – one day the whole bunch of 'em left Delmont an nobody heard about 'em for years."

"Did Dalton keep in touch with Hanford or Bess?"

"Don't know. If he did Hanford never said anything. When I got the first 'Wanted' poster of Dalton, with the alias 'George Henry,' I rode out to the ranch. Hanford didn't seem surprised, more disappointed than anything. We got into it somethin' fierce – he didn't like what I had to say about the way he'd treated that boy. Told him what could he expect – he never gave Dalton a fair chance."

The sheriff stopped talking and Bart sat there waiting for more. When there was no more forthcoming, the gambler asked his next question.

"What happened when Hanford was killed?"

"I was out at the Ferris house. Remy Ferris tried to steal a derringer from Horace's store, an I grabbed him an marched his little butt out to his old man. Dang kid thinks he can just take what he wants. Anyway, I was out there tellin' his pa that if I caught him again he was goin' to jail when Bess came tearin' up in the wagon. Damn near hysterical, said Dalton just shot and killed her pa. She was in town when it happened but she saw Dalton ridin' away as she came home an found Hanford dead."

"Anybody else see Dalton Dupree that day?"

"Nope. But we'd had word he was in Jonesville the day before. That's the next town over."

Bart rubbed his chin. Something was still bothering him. "Anything missin' from the house?"

"You mean like a robbery or somethin'?" Trainer asked. "Nothin' ever reported. Didn't see no strangers around town or nothin' like that."

The gambler sat there for a minute before getting to his feet. "Thanks for the information, Sheriff. I'll let ya know if I think of anything else."

"Whatever you're thinkin', Maverick, Bess ain't had no easy life. Lived out at that ranch by herself for the last few years, with nobody to depend on. Probably waitin' to see if her brother was comin' back to kill her, too."

He left the sheriff's office and walked down the sidewalk, stopping when he saw a lawyer's storefront across the street. He crossed over and walked into the offices of J.M. Barry, Attorney at Law, and found a handsome lad of eighteen or nineteen sitting out front. "Bart Maverick to see Mr. Barry, please."

"Miss Barry," the lad corrected. "May I tell her what it's regarding, Mr. Maverick?"

Bart was still trying to get over a lady lawyer and stumbled for just a moment. "Uh, tell her it's . . . it's about Bess and Hanford Dupree."

"Yes, sir," and the lad scurried down the short hallway and went behind a closed door. In a minute he was back out. "Miss Barry can see you now, Mr. Maverick. Follow me," and the lad headed down the hallway again. Bart followed. Behind the desk sat a very attractive woman in her late twenties, brunette hair piled up on top of her head, reading what appeared to be a document of some kind.

"Come in, Mr. Maverick, and have a seat. I heard that Bess Dupree convinced you to take the job she was offering. What changed your mind about accepting it, if I may ask?"

"Circumstances, Miss Barry. Circumstances. Does everyone in this town know I turned Bess down the first time the job was offered?"

"I am her lawyer, Mr. Maverick. One could expect a person's attorney to be aware of certain things. But the answer to your question is yes, practically everyone knows. And I'm sure that everyone now knows that you came back and accepted the job, too."

Bart nodded, not surprised to hear either answer. He got the same feeling from Attorney Barry that he got from Bess Dupree – there was something about the women that put him slightly off kilter. "Can I ask you some questions about Hanford Dupree and his will?"

"Certainly, Mr. Maverick. Miss Dupree has already given her permission for me to answer any questions you have."

One step ahead of him, the way she always seemed to be. Did she really need him to find Dalton? Or was he just a device to physically go where she couldn't or wouldn't go? He sighed audibly, and he could see the attorney watching him carefully. "Mr. Dupree's will – did you have the amended copy?"

"Amended copy? You mean the one where he failed to provide an inheritance for Dalton Dupree?"

"Yes, that copy."

Attorney Barry shook her head. "No, I did not. My predecessor here, who was my father, drafted that will and retained an unsigned copy. The signed copy was stored in a safe at the ranch by Mr. Dupree himself."

"And did Miss Dupree know that her brother – excuse me, her half-brother – had been omitted?"

"According to my father, Miss Dupree was not aware of that fact."

Bart looked unsure of his next question. "You know that for certain?"

"I do, Mr. Maverick. I had just graduated from law school, and my father informed me of that when Mr. Dupree was killed."

"Do you still have either the original will or the amended copy?"

"I do not have the original; that one was destroyed on Mr. Dupree's orders, upon his death. I do, however, retain the amended will. Would you care to see it?"

"Yes, please." Why he wanted to see it he wasn't sure, but he thought he should.

Miss Barry rang a small silver bell, and the lad from out front came in. "Jeremy, look in the Dupree file and find me the folder that says 'Dupree Will' on it."

The young man nodded and was gone for five or six minutes. Bart looked around the office – it was very businesslike. One would never guess from the contents of the room that it belonged to a woman. "Do you mind if I ask – what does the J.M. stand for?"

"Not at all. Josephine Martine. I was named for my father, who was Joseph Martin." Jeremy returned, folder in hand, and gave it to the attorney. "Thank you, Jeremy." She opened the folder and looked it over before handing it to Bart. "I think you'll find it all in order."

He read the writing on the paper and saw nothing particularly odd about it. It wasn't a long last will and testament; it was very simple and straightforward. It left all money and property to Hanford Dupree's daughter, Elizabeth Dupree. There was no mention of any kind of the deceased's son, Dalton Dupree, a.k.a. George Henry. It was signed 'Hanford Dupree' and witnessed by 'Joseph Martin Barry, Attorney-at-Law.' Bart was about to hand it back to Miss Barry when he noticed something unusual. The will was not dated.

"Something wrong, Mr. Maverick?"

"There's no date on this will, Miss Barry. Isn't that unusual?"

"Unusual, perhaps, but not unheard of."

If this one was undated, who was to say this was indeed the amended will, and not the original document that existed before Dalton Dupree had entered his father's life? Bart began to say something and then stopped himself. He held back, unwilling to show his cards at this point. He nodded, as if satisfied with her answer, and returned the folder. "That's all the questions I have for now, Miss Barry. I assume I can come visit if there's anything else I need to know?"

"Certainly, Mr. Maverick. You're welcome anytime. It was a pleasure to meet you." She extended her hand to shake, and he took it, then tipped his hat anyway.

"Ma'am." Bart walked down the hall and nodded to Jeremy before he left. The young man got up from his desk and went back to Josephine's office, and she handed him a note she'd just finished writing. "Take this to Miss Dupree at her ranch. And then take the rest of the afternoon off."

"Yes, ma'am," the clerk answered, and left immediately.

"Just like you said he would," the attorney murmured out loud, talking to the walls. "Just like you said."


	6. Travelin' Man

Chapter 5 – Travelin' Man

Back in his hotel room Bart started putting all the pieces of the puzzle together and admitted there was too much he didn't know about Dalton Dupree. There was only one way to fill in the gaps, and that was a trip to New Orleans. And then Lake Charles. Better ride out to Bess Dupree's and tell her he would be gone for a while.

He went to the livery to collect Noble and took his time saddling the gelding. His horse was in a playful mood and nudged Bart several times until the gambler finally produced the apple he'd been hiding in his jacket pocket. The horse grabbed the piece of fruit, his favorite, and took only seconds to eat the whole thing, core and all. "What'd I tell you about not doin' that?" Bart asked, and the gelding looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Gonna leave you here for a while, old man. I need to go a couple places and you don't hafta make the trip. I'll be back for ya before ya know it." Noble nodded and whinnied, acquiescing to the fact that Bart would be missing for a while. "You ready?" asked the man that talked to rabbits, and the horse snorted as he was mounted.

This time there was no interruption by any of the wildlife and Bart checked the road carefully, especially the spot where Bess had purported to see her half-brother fleeing the Dupree home. It was possible to see and not be seen if the rider was headed in an easterly direction. He'd have to ask her when he got to the ranch.

Bess was out front, talking to a cowhand that Bart assumed to be Jack Ford, her ranch foreman. She smiled as he approached and waited to make introductions. "Bart, this is Jack, my manager. Jack Ford, Bart Maverick."

"Ah, the man who's taken on the search for Dalton. You've quite a task in front of you," and he offered his hand to Bart. The gambler took it and shook hands with Jack.

"I'm pretty good at finding people; especially those that don't want to be found. I've had lots of practice."

"I hope you're successful," Jack said as he nodded towards Bess. "Miz Dupree deserves some peace of mind, that's for sure. Well, got work to do. Pleased to meet ya, Mr. Maverick," and Ford headed off towards the barn.

"Seems friendly enough," Bart told the girl. "No thoughts of sending him after Dalton?"

"He lacked one of the primary qualifications for the job."

"Which is?" Bart asked.

"No personal stake in the hunt."

"Ah, yes. About that. I'm not expectin' to find any of the money he took from me or the folks in Wyoming."

"Do you really think it's all gone?" There was an incredulous tone in her voice.

"Somethin' tells me the answer to that is yes."

"Would it matter to you if it is?"

"Yeah, I'd like to get some of it back. Any of it. The money he stole from Wyoming almost cost me . . . "

"What, Mr. Maverick? Some sleepless nights playing poker? Some of your time? What exactly?"

"My life. Not to mention the woman I was gonna marry."

She was startled. That was not an answer she'd expected.

"Come on, Miss Dupree. You researched me, checked my background, my life. You mean you missed that?"

"I did," she answered very quietly. "How did it happen?"

He answered her almost as quietly. "I was beaten and poisoned. When I recovered from the poisonin', I'd lost the memory of wantin' to propose to the lady in question. It was months before I remembered that I had a ring for her, and by then it was too late."

She looked him in the eyes, and he saw genuine regret there. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Worse than what he took from me, the rest of the money belonged to the Wyoming Stock Growers Association. It was supposed to help fund their drive for statehood. Which still hasn't succeeded, by the way."

"It was over one-hundred thousand dollars, wasn't it?"

'"It was. The money I won for them in a poker tournament. That George Henry ran off with."

"What would you do if you could recover it?"

"Don't know. Never thought about that."

"Would you like some coffee, Bart? I have a fresh pot inside."

"That would be nice, Bess. I have a couple more questions I need to ask, anyway." He offered his arm and she took it. For the first time since he'd met her she almost seemed . . . normal.

Once inside they sat at the table and drank coffee for a minute before anyone spoke. Finally Bart started. "No Selma Jean today?"

Bess shook her head. "No, only when I have guests over. The rest of the time you're looking at the entire staff."

Bart had to chuckle; Bess was funny, whether she intended to be or not. "Well then, staff. Tell me about the day your father died. When you came back from town and spotted Dalton riding away, which direction was he headed in?"

"What an odd question. He was headed towards Jonesville, so that means he was going east. Why, what difference does it make?"

"Just askin'. And there was nothin' missin' from the house? Money, guns, jewelry, nothin'?"

It took her a minute, thinking back to that day. "No. Nothing missing. Not that I ever noticed, anyway."

"How did the house look? I mean was there any kinda disturbance inside, like a fight or a struggle?"

"No."

"Anything that you noticed out of place, inside or out?"

"No. Nothing."

"And where was your father, when you found him?"

Bess scowled as if the memory was painful. "Follow me." She walked into the drawing room, over to the spot a sizeable rug occupied. Without saying anything she pulled a corner of the rug back, revealing a large, murky stain on the floor. "It wouldn't come out. So I covered it after a while. I couldn't stand to look at it, day in and day out."

She dropped the rug back to where she'd found it, and wilted into the nearest chair, her head pointed down. Even after all these years had passed it was still agonizing to think about, much less discuss. "I'm sorry to dredge all this up for ya, Bess."

She swallowed and looked back up. "It's alright, Bart. I know the reason you have to ask."

He squatted down next to her chair and took her hands in his. Hers were as cold as ice. "Can I ask one more?" She nodded, not trusting her voice to answer. "How was he layin'? Face up, face down, on his side, how?"

Her voice broke as she answered. "He was . . . he was face down on the ground."

"You're sure?"

"Yes," she whispered. "When I turned him over, his eyes were open and he looked startled like it was unexpected. Doctor Miller said he was shot in the back. He was facing the window like he'd been staring outside."

Bart pulled her up out of the chair but kept hold of her hands. "Come back to the kitchen with me." He led her out of the room and back the way they'd come, and didn't let go of her until he'd seated her at the table. She looked young and frightened, vulnerable in a way that she hadn't been before this very moment. He poured another cup of coffee and put the warm cup in her hands. "Drink this. It'll warm you."

Bess did as she was told and drank the whole cup straight down. When she'd set the cup back on the table she cleared her throat and told him, "Thank you. I didn't know it would be so hard."

"I'm sorry it was. I've nothin' else to ask. But I am gonna leave Delmont for a while."

"Oh? Oh. Business or pleasure?"

"Dalton Dupree."

"Dalt – where are you going?"

"To New Orleans. And Lake Charles. And maybe Jonesville."

"Looking for Dalton?"

Bart had to chuckle a little. She was quick, he'd have to give her that. "Among others."

"Be careful?"

"I plan on it."


	7. The Search

Chapter 6 – The Search

Bart got up the next morning and caught a cattle boat headed for New Orleans. He'd make the trip back by stage, passing through Lake Charles and Jonesville, but the boat, while smelling God-awful, was the fastest way to get where he was headed. He was there in two days and hoped he'd never have to ride another cattle boat in his life.

The first thing he did was check into the Chez Georges and order a bath; anything to remove the bovine stink. Then the hunt began. This was going to take a while, and he knew it. But he had to start somewhere, and the parish halls seemed the most likely. The spread out city of New Orleans had different parts housed in three separate parishes; Orleans, St. Bernard and St. Charles. He set out for Orleans Parish since the bulk of the city itself resided within its confines. He began with birth records from the ten years that surrounded Hanford Dupree's date of birth, hoping to find some trace of Helene Mazant, the first fiancée. There was none.

After many hours of searching old records for evidence of Helene's existence, he switched tactics. Instead, he searched through birth archives for Dalton Dupree, but at the end of the first day he'd found none of those, either. Tired and dusty from rifling through all the old documents, he headed back to Chez Georges. A change of clothes and a fine French dinner, complete with a glass of excellent red wine, helped to relax him and lessen the frustrations of an all day long fruitless search. He wandered into the gaming room of the Chez Georges and spent a most productive evening playing Chemin de fer, not his favorite card game but about all he had the energy for. His luck seemed to have returned, at least for this particular pastime, and when he decided to retire for the night he'd won several hundred dollars.

The bed was divine, and he had no trouble falling asleep. In the morning he headed straight for the parish hall, determined to finish his search in Orleans before the day was done. He finally struck gold when he switched to marriage records and unearthed one for Helene Mazant DuPree and Frederick Plessis, dated some six years ago. That was an interesting discovery. According to Bess, Helene and Hanford had broken their engagement before her mother and father met. Had there actually been a marriage, or had Helene just used the name after Dalton was born?

He once again went back through the old marriage registers but found none for Mazant and DuPree. At least now he had a married name for Dalton's mother, Helene DuPree Plessis. One more search to be made. As evening beckoned he finally abandoned the hunt, as he had the previous day, and retired to Chez Georges. He flirted shamelessly with the hostess of the gaming room and promised to return for her at two in the morning when she finished work.

By that time he was sure that his losing streak had been broken. Tonight he'd played poker and won the majority of the evening, and when the time had come for him to collect the delightful Genevieve from her position he took her for late night coffee and some excellent Creole pastries at the little café down the street. Genevieve insisted that she never did things like that, but returned to his room with him willingly and was happily asleep in his arms when the sun rose the next morning.

This third day he set off for St. Bernard Parish Hall and was rewarded almost immediately with records of the birth of Dalton Ulysses DuPree, to Helene and Hanford Dupree. He altered his search again, now searching for any sign of marriage for the Dupree's or a divorce for same. He again spent all day combing through old, hand-written documents, all to no avail. Genevieve had the night off and found herself wined and dined by the thoroughly charming and delightfully witty Bart Maverick, and once again when morning came the lovers could be found sleeping soundly, wrapped in each other's arms.

Bart spent one last day rummaging through old marriage records, this time in St. Charles Parish. One final time he hit pay dirt, uncovering the marriage registers of Hanford Dupree and Gabriela Baptiste, some two years after the birth of Dalton Dupree. He'd found quite a plethora of information – the birth of Dalton to Helene and Hanford Dupree, the marriage of Gabriela and Hanford, and the subsequent marriage of Helene to Frederick Plessis. Had Helene and Hanford married somewhere other than New Orleans, or was the birth of their son just recorded as if they were married? And if they truly were wed, were they never divorced? Was his subsequent marriage to Gabriela illegal?

It was on to the next step, and that was to try and locate Helene Plessis if she was still alive. That could take time and would definitely take patience, and Bart had wisely made arrangements to see Genevieve tomorrow night, rather than tonight. Two straight nights of enjoying a ladies company in the fascinating city of New Orleans and he was ready for sleep almost as soon as he'd finished dinner.

That night he dreamt, but this was one of the few nights that what he saw in his dreams wasn't about him or something that had happened in his life - the dreams were strictly about Bess, Dalton, Hanford, Helene, and Gabriela. And a nagging thought that had lurked in the back of his consciousness from the first time he'd heard the story of Hanford Dupree's murder – that maybe, just maybe, Dalton Dupree was not the person that shot Bess Dupree's father.

XXXXXXXX

Armed with the information he'd gathered over the past several days, the gambler decided to roll the dice and went looking for Helene Mazant Dupree Plessis. He tried every police department, every newspaper office, church, social club and tea parlor he could find. He checked with every ladies clothing store and hat shop, hoping the name would be recognized somewhere. Once again the day brought nothing until almost the last moment before suspending the search for the night.

He'd just asked the very agreeable lady at Mademoiselle Tourmaline's Exquisite Clothing Store if she knew anyone by that name, and she'd politely told him 'no.' As he turned to leave the shop, an older woman caught his arm. "Son, did I hear you ask about Helene Plessis?"

He politely tipped his hat. "Yes, ma'am, that's the lady I'm searchin' for. Have you heard the name before?"

She was momentarily distracted. "Is that a Texas accent I hear? Bless my soul, a real one for a change! Some of these dandies around here try to fool the ladies . . . . . but I stray off course. Helene Plessis lives next door to me. About two blocks from here. May I inquire why you are trying to locate her?" She smiled at him, all the while thinking _'what a handsome young man.'_

"Ma'am, I wish I could give you a better answer, but it's a personal matter. It has to do with a relative of hers. I assure you, I want nothin' from the lady but some of her time."

Once more she laid her hand on his arm. "I am Minnie Lavolier, son. What is your name?"

He placed his hand over hers in a reassuring gesture. "Bart Maverick, ma'am. May I have the honor of escorting you somewhere, Mrs. Lavolier?"

Minnie, who was old enough to be Bart's grandmother, giggled like a schoolgirl. "That, Mr. Maverick, would be the highlight of my day."

Bart opened the door for her, breathing a long-awaited sigh of relief. You just never knew where you were going to find help. Minnie Lavolier's arm in his, the gambler guided her slowly, carefully, down Carondelet Street, talking and laughing together the whole way. When they got to St. Ann Avenue they turned south, and within twenty feet Minnie Lavolier stopped. "This is it, Bart. I'm sure you'll find Helene home, she rarely goes out. I live right next door." She started to pull away from him and he stopped her.

"Now what kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn't make sure you got safely home?" With that he walked Minnie up the steps to her front door and waited while she found the key and unlocked it.

"Promise me you'll come back and have coffee with me before you leave New Orleans?" she asked while stepping inside.

"You mean tea?"

"No, sir. I may be an old lady but I'll never drink that colored water that passes for tea. I mean coffee."

That caused a slight chuckle from her escort. "Yes ma'am, I guarantee I'll come back to visit." He kissed the back of her hand and tipped his hat, and Minnie giggled once more and bestowed a dazzling smile on him. _'I bet she had more suitors than she knew what to do with,'_ he thought as he waited for her to close and lock the door. Once Minnie was securely indoors he practically skipped down the steps and up the next set to Helene Plessis' door. He knocked and waited, and was rewarded with the faint echo of footsteps.

"Yes?" A small, regal looking woman asked as the door opened.

"Mrs. Plessis? My name is Bart Maverick. I'd like to talk to you about Dalton Dupree."


	8. Helene

Chapter 7 – Helene

She tried to close the door but Bart stepped part-way in and prevented it. "I don't know anyone by that name," Helene Plessis insisted.

"I think you do, Mrs. Dupree."

She sighed heavily, as if resigned to hearing more bad news. "What are you, a Marshall? Federal or State?"

"Neither one, ma'am. I just want to talk to you. May I come in?"

Helene Dupree Plessis said nothing, but stepped back from the entry and held the door open. "Come in, Mr. Maverick. It is Maverick, isn't it?"

Bart removed his hat and stepped completely inside, closing the door behind him. "Bart, please, Mrs. Plessis."

"Bart. I'm Helene. What is it that you want?"

"I do want to find your son, Helene. But I'm not the law, and I've got some questions about him and your first husband that I need answered."

She indicated a chair to Bart, and sat down in another. "So you know about Hanford."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Bart nodded in reply. "You were married, then? Where exactly? It doesn't appear to have been in New Orleans."

She shook her head and said sadly, "It was in Baton Rouge. A long, long time ago. And something I'd like to forget."

"There was no divorce?" Bart was sure he knew the answer to the question, but he waited for Helene to confirm his suspicions. And that she did.

"No. There was no divorce. Hanford swore he would get one; I assumed he had. Then when I found out otherwise . . . . . . That's why Frederick and I didn't marry until . . . . "

"Six years ago," Bart finished for her.

Helene Plessis looked surprised. "You seem to know a lot about my life."

"I've spent a lot of time looking at old records, Helene. But I still have questions the records can't answer. Would you let me ask you?"

She nodded, even if it did seem rather reluctantly. "I need a drink, Bart. How about you?" Helene got up from her chair and walked over to the sideboard, where she poured herself three fingers of Kentucky whiskey and looked to her visitor for an answer.

"No, thank you." He wondered what might prove to be so painful that an obvious member of New Orleans Creole society would find it necessary to drink. And during the daytime, too.

She commented on his noticeable surprise as she returned to her seat. "Yes, to answer your unasked question – being married to Hanford Dupree for the short period of time that I was proved an extremely disturbing experience that affected the majority of my adult life."

"I'm sorry to dredge up painful memories. So you were married to Dalton's father when he was born?"

"Yes, but not living with him. I'd finally gotten up the courage to tell my family what was going on in my marriage about six months before Dalton came, and my father showed up at our home armed with a pistol and threatened to shoot Hanford if he didn't pack and leave. Knowing what I know now, I wish he had. Shot my husband, I mean." There was no comment or question from the gambler, and eventually Helene continued. "Hanford Dupree pretended to be kind, and caring, and a true gentleman. In actuality he was a mean, depraved sub-human being. I feel very sorry for the woman he married. They had a daughter, didn't they?"

"They did. Her name is Elizabeth, and she lives in Delmont. She insists that Dalton shot and killed his father."

The woman sat there and sipped her whiskey without commenting. She'd gotten about halfway through her glass before she spoke. "Maybe. Considering the way Dalton has spent most of his adult life, it wouldn't surprise me. But if he did, he had good reason."

"What exactly does that mean, Helene? Good reason?"

"Before I give you an explanation, I'd like you to answer two questions for me. Would you do that?"

Bart nodded. "If I can."

"Do you love your father? Do you respect him?"

Those might have been difficult questions to answer in the past. Not anymore. "Yes, I do. There was a time when I didn't understand him, but I always loved him. And as I've grown older and learned more about him I respect him far more than I ever thought possible."

Helene smiled sadly at him. "You're a lucky man. My son never had that, not any of it. Dalton grew up without a father of any kind, and when he was near grown he set off to find his. What he found instead was Hanford Dupree."

Bart was momentarily confused. "But, I thought – "

"You're right, of course. Hanford was his father. But if I had to describe the man I'd call him the father from hell."

"Why, Helene? What made him so bad? Did Dalton go to Delmont hating his father?"

"On the contrary, Bart. Dalton knew nothing about his father. I never spoke of Hanford to our son. And when Dalton was old enough he decided to seek out his father himself."

"And what did he find? Someone mentioned somethin' to me about arguments and abuse and beatin's. Was that what it was? Did he come back and tell you?"

Helene shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "He came back, almost three years later. He wasn't the same, and I blamed myself. If I'd told him about Hanford, warned him, maybe things wouldn't have happened the way they did. Maybe he wouldn't have gone at all. Maybe . . . " She sat without speaking for a few moments, until she finished the end of her drink. Then she set the glass down and looked up. "But that's not what happened, is it? Dalton went to Delmont, and he found out what kind of a monster his father was."

"What was Hanford really like, Helene?" he asked quietly, almost deferentially. Not wanting to cause this woman any more pain, but needing to know the truth.

"He was . . . . . abusive. Oh not so much physically. Not at first. He whined, he yelled, he wheedled, he belittled, he damaged your feelings in any way that he could, using any means necessary. He beat you down until you felt useless, worthless, helpless. Then he turned mean. He said ugly, hurtful things, accused you of everything under the sun, things you would never, ever think of doing. And he was so convincing that after a while you began to believe him, to imagine that you were actually doing those things. And when you cowered in fear at even the sound of his voice, he started hitting you. Just a slap here or there, at first, but more and more until you'd do anything to make them stop. Anything. I know." Tears stood in Helene's eyes, but they did not fall. She held her head up and looked Maverick, her inquisitor, this stranger, right in the face. "Is that what you needed to know, Mr. Maverick?"

Bart picked up her glass from where it sat and walked over to the sideboard, pouring more whiskey. When he returned he handed it to Helene. She looked up at him and accepted the glass, taking a big swallow. "Part of it," he said gently. "What did Dalton tell you when he returned from Delmont?"

She cleared her throat and took another long swallow of the liquor. "As I said before, he wasn't the same. He'd hardened, lived with criminals, outlaws, ran with them; learned from them. He hated guns before he left New Orleans. He came back as a 'gunslinger.' He made money by being a hired gun, acting as a bodyguard, by any way he could. He stole and lied; I'm sure he killed people. My beautiful, beautiful boy turned into . . . he turned into whatever he did to survive. He gave me money, bought me a place to live. I didn't ask him where it came from. I couldn't afford to know.

"The last time I saw him was right after Hanford died. He came back here and only stayed a few days. Told me that he'd met someone, a girl who knew nothing of his past or his real profession, and that he was going to marry her. He didn't tell me if he'd shot his father or not; I chose not to ask. I heard that he lives somewhere in Louisiana, and he has a child." She paused again, almost like she was catching her breath, and took another swallow of the amber liquid. "I know who he is. I've heard all about George Henry. That man is not my son. Dalton is still in there somewhere, I pray, and I hope that his family never learns the truth." She looked up from her glass as a sad smile graced her features. "That's all I know, Mr. Maverick. My husband knows about Dalton, but not that he's George Henry. I'd prefer to keep it that way."

"Yes ma'am, I understand. I'm sorry I made you remember things you probably didn't want to." The gambler stood then, and Helene Plessis was surprised.

"That's what you wanted to know? Why did you come here, Bart? Who are you working for?"

He hesitated to give her answers, and then decided he needed to be honest. "I'm working for Bess Dupree. She wants me to find Dalton and convince him to return to Delmont. Either voluntarily or forcibly. She insists he murdered Hanford Dupree. Said she saw him riding away from the house and found her father dead, shot in the back."

"Are you a bounty hunter, Mr. Maverick?"

"No ma'am, I'm a gambler." He shook his head.

"You're a . . . then why? Why are you working for Bess Dupree?"

For the first time he was embarrassed as he answered. "She offered me a job. I was broke."

"Do you believe her? That Dalton killed her father?" She watched him curiously, waiting for his response.

"I . . . I did."

"But you don't now?"

"Honestly, Helene, I don't know."

"Alright," she said. "Fair enough." She reached out and grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Please, Mr. Maverick, don't kill him."

"I have no intention of killing him, Mrs. Plessis, and no desire to do so."

Helene Dupree Plessis nodded and let go of Bart's arm. He returned his hat to his head, tipped it to her, and left. It was almost dark outside, and he was glad he had an engagement to keep with Genevieve. Otherwise he might have gone back to Chez Georges and sat down with his own bottle.


	9. Searching in an Empty Grave

Chapter 8 – Searching in an Empty Grave

After his meeting with Helene Plessis there was no further reason for him to remain in New Orleans, but something made him linger on in the city. Finally he decided to see if he could locate any of the Dupree clan that remained. Bess had told him of an uncle of hers that still lived there, Hanford's younger brother Theodore.

Theodore Dupree proved almost as difficult to find as Helene Plessis. Twice he located a Theodore Dupree who turned out to be someone other than Hanford's brother. The third time he found a man with the same name who was mulatto, and the fourth was only twelve years old. In desperation he located one last Dupree, and at long last struck pay dirt. Bart was amused to discover the younger Dupree was a Faro dealer at The Gilded Lily, in the heart of the New Orleans gambling district. He arranged to talk with Theodore when his 'shift' at the Faro table was over.

They met in the saloon, and after some momentary awkwardness they settled in to discuss Hanford Dupree. Theodore ordered whiskey, Bart drank coffee. Bart explained that he was working for Bess, trying to locate someone, and she'd told him of her uncle.

"Bessie's a fine girl," Theodore pronounced as he started on his second drink. "Much more like her mother than Hanford."

"Hanford was how much older than you?"

"Ten years. I was the unexpected child," Theodore declared. "Our parents weren't quite sure what to do with me, so I spent a good deal of my time tagging along with my brother."

Bart had to chuckle. "I did the same thing, but there's not quite two years difference between me and mine. How'd you get along with yours?"

Teddy, as he preferred to be called, shook his head. "Most of the time we were fine. But when Hanford got into one of his moods – Lord forbid you were in his way. He could cut you down with a word or a look quicker than most men could shoot a pistol."

"How old were you when he married Helene Mazant?"

"Oh, you know about the marriage? Even after all these years most people think they were only engaged."

Bart nodded. "I spoke with Helene. She was most . . . informative."

"So you know all about the ugliness that preceded the birth of their son?"

"Only from her point of view."

"I'm sure that what she told you was the truth. Helene is nothing if not honest. Besides, I have no problem believing anything she would have to say about my brother. He treated her abominably. Thank God her father intervened in the marriage."

"Any idea why he was so callous?"

"Ah, yes. Gabriela. He'd fallen in love with her and was intent on getting out of his marriage to Helene, even with a child on the way."

"Why didn't he just leave her?"

"But you see, he couldn't. He'd only married Helene because her father was wealthy, and if Hanford simply deserted her his plan wouldn't work."

"What plan?" Bart asked curiously.

Teddy ordered his third whiskey. "His plan to blackmail Rene Mazant out of enough money to marry Gabriela and leave the state. Rene was against the marriage to begin with, and Hanford knew if he could threaten the Mazant name with a big enough scandal, Helene's father would pay him to quietly disappear. He browbeat the poor girl and accused her of all sorts of heinous things; when that didn't work he began to physically abuse her. Finally when she was with child she'd had enough of his despicable behavior and informed her father. Hanford didn't squeeze as much money out of Rene as he was hoping for, but it was enough for him to flee to Texas with his new bride."

Nothing that Bart had heard from either Helene or Theodore sounded anything like the way Bess had portrayed her father – as a loving husband and father. "And you're sure of all this?" Bart doggedly asked.

"Quite sure," Teddy replied. "Hanford was supposed to obtain a Bill of Divorcement, but I'm positive he never did. He simply married Gabriela and whisked her off as far as Rene's money would take him."

"Have you ever told Bess any of it?" the gambler asked the Faro dealer.

"My heavens, no!" Teddy exclaimed. "He honestly loved Gabriela, and he never exhibited any of the behavior towards her that he employed against Helene. And he adored Bess. It was only after Dalton appeared on the scene in Texas that Hanford began to display some of his old peculiarities."

"I'd call them a lot more than peculiarities," Bart decreed.

"You would – polite society would not."

"Do you believe that Dalton could have murdered his father in what appears to be cold-blood?"

Teddy nodded. "If he abused Dalton anywhere near as much as Helene – no doubt. But whatever end Hanford suffered, and whoever's hands he suffered it at, he more than deserved for the things he'd done when he was younger, and the abuse heaped on his son. I've always wondered if the man Bess saw riding away was Dalton Dupree – or if there was any man at all."

There was profound disbelief in Bart's voice. "Are you proposin' that Bess might have killed her father herself?"

"Anything's possible," Teddy answered. "Even that."

XXXXXXXX

Bart spent one more night with Genevieve, taking her on a carriage ride all around the city and then back to Chez Georges for a late supper. He explained that his reasons for being in New Orleans had all been disposed of and he had another stop in Louisiana to make before returning to Texas. She was unhappy to see him go but understood his departure, and they parted with reluctance. The following morning he dropped by Minnie Lavolier's home to say good-bye and spent the better part of the morning hours drinking coffee, telling stories, and laughing. It was a welcome respite from the dark intensity of his visits with Helene and Theodore.

He checked out of the Chez Georges and caught the afternoon stage for Lake Charles. The stage drove all night, stopping twice at way stations along the route. He slept most uncomfortably in the coach, since he was the only passenger on this particular trip. By ten o'clock the next morning they'd arrived in Lake Charles, and Bart was more than happy to leave the stage and check into the Charles Arms Hotel. He ate a late breakfast and returned to the hotel room for a quick nap, which turned out to be much longer than he'd anticipated. The late nights with Genevieve had finally caught up with him and he slept soundly until almost seven in the evening. Since it was too late to begin his search for the elusive Mr. Dupree, or the gun slinger George Henry, whichever of them could be located, he found a saloon next to the hotel and decided to play poker.

It appeared that the fickle Lady known as Luck was once more enamored of him, and he played well enough to almost double the money he'd won in New Orleans. By three in the morning he was ready to call it a night and returned to his room, intending to rise early enough to begin his next search – for the man Bess Dupree believed had killed her father.

Once again he dreamt about the entire extended Dupree clan, but this dream ended when he determined that Dalton may have done a lot of ugly and illegal things in his life – but committing patricide was not one of them. When he woke that morning he was left with the inevitable question – if Dalton hadn't committed the murder, just who had?


	10. A Little Lady Named Sara Beth

Chapter 9 – A Little Lady Named Sara Beth

Bart was awake and up soon after sunrise. When he gave it some thought, he was amused by all the mornings he had to be dragged out of bed when he and Bret were growing up. Make no mistake, he still liked his sleep, but when there was something that needed doing he was usually awake when he needed to be.

He went downstairs and ate what passed for breakfast while he decided where to start. The marshal was too obvious; so were the bank and the telegraph office. After heading out the front door of the hotel he spied Mosby's General Store down the street and walked that way. He poked around among the merchandise for sale while the other customers made their purchases. When he and the man behind the counter were the only ones left, he picked up several items he was in need of and went to pay for them. He and the clerk made small talk until Bart finally asked, "Say, I've got a friend that lives here in town somewhere but I'm not sure exactly where. Do you know the Dupree family?"

"Sure, Dalton and Janie. They live out in the Cottonwood area – bout six or seven miles north a here. Did you just turn up unexpected? Cause Dalton left town on one a his business trips two days ago."

"Just my luck," Bart lamented sadly as he shook his head. "I wasn't gonna come through here but at the last minute, I changed my mind. I was hopin' to catch him home. Don't they have a son?"

"Naw, it's a daughter named Sara Beth. You gonna go out there anyway? Janie's used to all sorts a company droppin' in on her unexpected. "

"Yeah, I just might," Bart replied. "Where'd you say it was?"

"Cottonwood. Take the north road outta town till you see the sign that says 'Benton – 6 miles' – then follow that road. It'll take ya right to their farm. Janie Dupree's always glad to meet somebody that knows Dalton – he's got a lotta friends. What'd ya say yer name was?"

"I didn't, but it's Jamison. Bart Jamison. Thanks, friend. I surely appreciate the information."

Bart left the store with his purchases and headed for the livery, where he got a horse and rode out of town on the north road. It didn't take long to get to the 'Benton' sign and he was soon at a small farmhouse that he assumed to be the Dupree's. Whatever Dalton had done with the money he stole from Wyoming, he certainly didn't live an extravagant lifestyle.

The house was small and cozy, and the rest of the property seemed well-taken-care-of but not expensively maintained. A young woman with wispy blonde hair sat on the porch in a rocking chair watching a four or five-year-old girl ride a pony around the corral. The woman stood up as Bart approached and he saw that she was big with child. She smiled and shaded her eyes while he dismounted and tipped his hat to her.

"Mrs. Dupree?"

"Yes."

"My name's Bart Jamison. I know your husband." ' _Sort of,'_ thought Bart. _'I know his alter ego.'_ "I understand I missed him."

"You did, Mr. Jamison. He went to Mississippi to buy cotton. He'll be gone for another three or four days."

"Pardon me for being indelicate, Mrs. Dupree, but should he be gone with you in your condition?"

She threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Jamison. You needn't be concerned. This is our third and I'm fine. Won't you have a seat? I have some tea inside if you'd like some."

"Please, Mrs. Dupree, sit back down. I just finished breakfast. And call me Bart."

"Glad to meet you, Bart. I'm Janie. Won't you join me?' There was a second rocker on the porch next to the one Janie Dupree had been in, but before Bart could take the seat the girl on the pony began to call, "Mommy, mommy, mommy!"

"What is it, Sara Beth?"

"I wanna get down, Mommy!"

"You know how to do that by yourself, Sara."

In response Sara Beth dropped the reins and held out her hands, crying. "Come get me, mommy!"

Bart reached out and put his hand on the mother's arm. "Sit down. I'll get her." He headed toward the corral before Janie Dupree could tell him how very shy Sara Beth was, and generally frightened of strangers. Bart got to the pony and picked the reins up from the ground, talking to the little girl the whole time. She nodded and grinned at him, then swung her leg over the saddle and slid down into his arms. By the time they got back to the porch, Sara Beth slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour and giggling her head off, her mother was thoroughly impressed. He set her down carefully on the porch and she ran into the house, still laughing.

"She's never reacted to anyone like that. You certainly have a way with children, Bart."

"Sara Beth's a beautiful little girl."

"She's an excellent judge of character, so I've no doubt you're a good man to have as a friend."

Bart felt a twinge of guilt but answered honestly. "I hope so, Janie. I thought you said this was your third child."

Her eyes took on sadness but the smile never left her face. "It is. Our firstborn was our son, Thomas. We lost him last year when fever came through the valley. He was almost ten."

Bart wasn't sure he'd ever feel sorry for George Henry, but there was pity in his heart for Dalton and Janie. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." He couldn't imagine the pain of losing a child.

"Not your fault. Was there something you needed to see Dalton about, or was this just a social visit?"

He'd almost forgotten for a moment why he was there. "A little of both, actually. There's some business I wanna discuss with him, and I wanted to meet his family."

Sara Beth came running back outside. "Mommy, can Bart stay for supper?"

Janie stared at her daughter, wondering how she knew their guest's name. "I told her," the gambler explained, answering the unasked question. "It seemed only fair. I knew her name."

The woman smiled at her daughter. "Yes, Sara Beth, I think that's an excellent idea." She turned her head to extend the invitation to Bart. "As long as we can convince him to stay." She held up her hand. "Stop before you say anything. I already have a big pot of beef stew cooking, and adding an extra plate is not an imposition."

Sara Beth looked happy and hopeful, and Bart persuaded himself he couldn't disappoint a lady, no matter the age. He nodded. "Alright, I will. But only if you let me help clean up after."

"Deal," Janie Dupree agreed and stuck out her hand. Bart shook it and felt a pang of guilt. He had to keep reminding himself that Dalton was actually George Henry, a contract killer, and not a friend of his.

"I'll put the pony away for you," Bart told Janie. "Why don't you come with me, Sara Beth, and we'll take care of your pony? What's his name?" He reached down to the girl and she took his hand and walked obediently with him out to the corral. Janie Dupree sat for a moment and watched the two of them, then shook her head in disbelief. She'd never seen her daughter respond to anyone like that except her father, Dalton.

XXXXXXXX

When supper was done Bart helped Janie with the dishes, as agreed upon, and she poured him a fresh cup of coffee before they went to sit on the porch. Sara Beth was inside getting ready for bed and Bart lit a cigar, after making sure it wouldn't disturb his hostess. It was a beautiful clear night, with a slight breeze that cooled off the heat of the day. Janie was rocking and humming and watching the stars, and Bart didn't think he'd ever seen anyone quite so peaceful in his whole life.

"Dalton and I love to sit out here on the porch and look at the night sky," Janie told the gambler. "It's just about our favorite thing to do since we lost Thomas. It's so quiet; if we sit still and don't make a sound we can almost hear him."

"How did you get through it? I mean . . . " Bart was more or less at a loss for words.

"Have you ever lost anyone you loved, Bart?' It was practically dark outside and she couldn't see the pain that appeared in his eyes after she'd asked the question.

"Yeah. My wife."

The woman in her grieved for him, this man she'd only just met, and she reached over and patted his hand. "Then you understand."

"No, I can't imagine bringing a child into this world just to lose them." She could hear the sympathy in his words.

She sighed heavily. "Neither could we. But we did, and we got through it somehow. Sara Beth helped. We had to keep on, for her sake, and we kind of inched forward, until one day I laughed at something Dalton said, and we both knew we'd made it through the worst. Of course, this baby helped. It gave us hope, and a reason to keep going. And it inspired Dalton to finish building the new church."

"New church?"

"Oh, hadn't he started that the last time you saw him?"

"Noooo, it's been quite a while." Bart thought back to the school he'd helped build in Magdalena after Caroline died. George Henry certainly didn't seem like the kind of man to build a church; Dalton Dupree must be quite different from the gunslinger persona. "Yes, he used most of his commission money to buy the supplies and pay for the extra labor to get it built. The congregation provided all the money it could, which wasn't a lot, but the old church had gotten so small . . . and he'd started the project before Thomas got sick. I think it helped keep him sane."

"And he did that – "

"While doing his regular job as a cotton broker and working the farm. My husband stays busy."

Bart's cigar was gone and it was past time to leave. He stood up and she stood with him. "There's no need for you to get up. I have to go back to town. Do you think Dalton will be back by Friday?"

"Yes, Bart, I do. That was his plan. You're not leaving before that, are you?"

He shook his head. "No, I'll stay until he comes back. I really do need to see him." He reached for his hat on the arm of the rocker but before he could set it on his head Sara Beth came running out.

"Are you leaving, Bart?"

He bent down and picked her up. "Yes, ma'am, I have to go back to town. It's my bedtime, too."

She giggled and kissed him on the cheek. "Will you come back?"

"I will," he pledged. "On Friday, when your daddy's home."

"Promise?"

"I promise." He set the child back down on the ground, and she hugged her mother's knees.

"I love you, mommy."

"I love you too, baby. Go on and get in bed, I'll be right there to tuck you in."

"Okay. Bye Bart. See you Friday." And she disappeared as quickly as she'd appeared.

"Hard to stay miserable with her around."

"Yes, it is. Thank you for your help with her today."

Bart grinned. "My pleasure. Thank you for the pleasant company and supper. I will be back out on Friday. And just in case Dalton doesn't remember my last name, just tell him I said 'Maverick.' He'll remember that."

She smiled in the dark. "I'm sure he wouldn't forget you."

"Goodnight, Janie. I'm glad to have met you."

"Me too, Bart. Goodnight."

He mounted the horse and rode towards Lake Charles. His head was spinning – so much new information, so many contradictions. How could a man like Dalton Dupree turn into an outlaw and killer like George Henry? It was almost beyond belief. This was one time he absolutely had to see for himself. Now he just had to keep occupied until Friday.


	11. Tinhorn

Chapter 10 – Tinhorn

When Bart got back to the hotel there was a wire for him from Bess.

 _Haven't heard from you._

 _Any progress?_

 _Bess Dupree_

She'd have to wait until morning, the gambler decided. He was too tired and unsure of everything to think straight, and he wearily climbed the stairs to his room.

For once he lay in bed trying to stay awake. He didn't know what was bothering him more – the fact that he'd spent all day deceiving a good woman and a sweet child or the confusion surrounding the real person behind the name Dalton Dupree. How could a man so upstanding, so loving and moral, be a vicious criminal like George Henry? A man that killed mercilessly and stole without remorse? And how had he gotten to be that way? Before the gambler knew it, he'd fallen asleep. And while sleeping, he dreamt and remembered.

 _As soon as he unlocked the door he knew there was someone in the room. "I've been waiting for you," the voice told him._

" _And do you always wait in other people's hotel rooms?" he asked, already knowing the answer._

" _Generally, when it suits my purpose," came the expected reply. "Come in and sit down, Mr. Maverick. I came to deliver a message. You don't have to worry about Raymond anymore. He won't bother you again."_

" _Oh? And will it be you bothering me instead? Do you have a name or should I just call you sir?"_

" _Mr. Johnson's right. You are funny. Name's Henry. George Henry. But you can call me sir."_

" _Well, Mr. Henry, sir, is that all you came to tell me? If it is, I appreciate the message. I'm gonna lay down now – head's killin' me."_

 _George Henry stood up and pointed his Colt at the gambler. "I'll make this short. Just because Raymond's gone doesn't mean the promise has changed. You lose, you live. You win, you'll be lookin' over your shoulder for me. And I don't miss." He holstered his gun and walked past Bart. "Good talkin' to ya, Mr. Maverick. See you around." And Bart's uninvited guest was gone._

He opened his eyes slowly, halfway expecting to see George Henry in the room. It was still night outside, and there was no one there but him. But the lingering feeling that he was missing important pieces to the puzzle remained. He rolled over and ran through everything that he'd learned one more time. The dual identity. The possible murder. The truth of the marriage and birth, both Dalton's and Bess's. The ugly picture of Hanford Dupree. The shamed and grieving mother. The drunken uncle. The loving wife and child. Two entirely different personas. Nothing made sense anymore, and Bart finally fell back asleep with all of it spinning in his head.

When morning came he had no more sorted out than he did the night before. He got cleaned up and changed clothes, then went downstairs for breakfast. When he'd finished that he went searching for the barber, and found one within a few feet of the hotel. After a haircut and shave he went back to the telegraph office and sent an answer to Bess Dupree.

 _Making headway_

 _Back next week._

 _Maverick_

That should keep her happy for a while. It was the truth, and about all he could tell her right now. There was still something not quite right about the whole situation, and until he knew just what it was there was no sense trying to explain.

He was restless and needed time and space to think, and he finally went back to the livery and soon rode out of town, hoping to clear his head. He traveled south this time, riding out to the Lake the town took its name from, and found a shady spot to sit and think. It reminded him of the river that the three Maverick boys had grown up by, and he spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon there, letting his mind wander back and forth among the overgrown weeds that this journey had become.

He missed his brother more than ever right now. Whenever something was bothering him and he couldn't see the forest for the trees, Bret was usually close enough to talk things out with. This time Bart had no earthly clue where his brother was, and it bothered him greatly. He'd put out 'feelers' before he'd left Delmont, hoping there would be some trail for him to follow up on his return, but that didn't help him right now. And Beau was still in Montana, for all he knew. No, he was just going to have to work this one out all by himself, a daunting prospect at the moment. Finally tired of sitting on the ground, he got up and mounted his horse, missing Noble almost as much as his brother.

He rode partway around the lake before heading back to town, and found himself thinking about food. That was something that didn't happen often, and he turned the horse back to the road. There was a café in town, down on the other side of the barbershop, and he wandered in there to see about an early supper. The food was good and the waitress bright and perky and Bart did his best to be pleasant and friendly, traits that typically came to him without thinking about them. Today he almost had to force himself to smile.

Back in his hotel room, he decided the best thing he could do was play poker. Maybe concentrating on something other than the confusion he found himself surrounded by would allow him to think clearly. Since there was little chance that Bret would come riding into Lake Charles tonight, that seemed the best idea he'd had all day. He tried to put everything out of his mind and concentrate on the clothes he'd brought with him. Walking around town looking like your average, everyday cowboy was fine, but he needed to be Bart Maverick, professional poker player right now. And that required a different style of dress.

After a great deal of debate he settled on the gray coat and silver vest, with his preferred pin-tucked white shirt and black tie. As he settled his hat on his head he blew out a breath and headed for the nearest saloon. He was determined to think of nothing but poker tonight.

XXXXXXXX

That sentiment lasted about three hours until one of the cowboys playing at the same table decided there was someone cheating and it was probably the tinhorn. How many times had he heard that particular label thrown at him, and how many more times would he hear it in this lifetime?

"I don't cheat, friend," was Bart's standard answer, said with a smile and a conciliatory tone of voice.

"Y'all cheat," the cowboy slurred his words but had no trouble making his sentiment perfectly clear. "All you tinhorns. Cheat. Ask anybody here."

"Is that what you think?" Bart asked, looking from one poker player to the next. Everybody but the cowboy shook their head 'no' or said the word. The man to Bart's immediate right looked at the drunk.

"Come on, Stan, we've been over this before. You can't drink when you play poker, it just turns you into a lousy player."

"Doesn't either," answered Stan. "He's cheatin'. I seen him."

"No, you didn't," the gambler answered, tired of hearing the same imaginary complaint.

"Saw ya. With my own two eyes. You got one a them fancy contrap . . . contraptions up yer sleeve."

Bart pulled the sleeves on his coat almost up to his elbows. There was nothing to be seen but his shirt. "Where?" he asked.

Even though it was plain to everyone Stan was drunk and in the wrong, he wouldn't let it go. "Don't know. Ya got rid of it." He stood up and began to reach for his gun. That's when a voice loud enough to cast a pall over the entire saloon was heard.

"Get your hand off your gun, Stan. This man's a friend of Dalton's. He ain't no cheater." Slowly, ever so slowly, the cowboy moved his hand away from his gun. Only then would Bart take his eyes off the man that threatened him and look to see who had spoken.

The stranger was tall and dark, and wore a tin star. Bart sighed, waiting for the voice to tell him he was under arrest. Instead what he heard was, "Sorry for the trouble, Mr. Jamison. Stan tends to get out of control when he drinks. He won't bother you again, will you Stan?"

Stan shook his head 'no.'

"Come on, Stan. Time to spend the night sleepin' it off." The cowboy pushed his chair away from the table and walked towards the sheriff, who motioned him on out the door. "You can go back to your game now, folks."

Bart let out a slow breath. Just who was Dalton Dupree, that even his friends were held in such high esteem?


	12. By Any Other Name

Chapter 11 – By Any Other Name

Friday morning dawned bright and clear, and it was well past nine o'clock when Bart finally woke up. He'd waited the rest of the week quietly, peacefully, knowing that Dalton Dupree was due back home today, and either all the missing pieces would fall into place and he would understand the whole mess, or all hell would break loose and anyone could end up dead. He was hoping for the former and not the latter.

Breakfast consisted of toast, scrambled eggs and so many cups of coffee that he lost track. He was surprised to find that he was – what? – nervous? Not exactly that. Anxious. Concerned. Confused. Tired of waiting. He left half the food and drank two more cups of coffee before paying and heading for the livery. The ride back out to the Dupree farm was uneventful, and a knot grew in the pit of his stomach. He had no idea when Dalton would be arriving, or how he'd be traveling. Was he finally going to confront the man that had threatened his life, his very existence, and stolen what amounted to a fortune from him? Or would something happen to delay the meeting?

Things were unnaturally quiet when he arrived at the house. No sign of Taffy the pony, Sara Beth or Janie. And certainly no sign of Dalton. Bart dismounted at the house and tied up his horse, looking around to see if anyone was visible out in the corral or barn. As he got to the door and knocked he heard something but he couldn't quite tell what it was. There was no answer and he knocked again and called out "Janie, are you here? It's Bart." There, he heard the noise again. It sounded like a low moan. "Janie! Sara Beth!"

Suddenly the door swung open but there was no one there until he glanced down and saw Sara Beth running frantically away from the door. "Sara Beth! It's Bart. Come back!" Then he heard the sound again, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was a woman's voice, moaning. _'Janie! She must be_ _hurt!'_ He went rushing in, following the rooms until he found a closed door and threw it open. The sight that greeted him almost scared the life out of him.

Jane Dupree was on the floor moaning, and it was evident she was trying to have the baby. He rushed over to her and turned her over on her back, and her eyes fluttered open briefly. "Bart," she murmured. "Baby . . . . . . "

There wasn't enough time to ride back to town and fetch the doctor. "Sara Beth!" he yelled and the little girl came running. "Here, honey, I have to go hitch up the wagon. You stay here and hold mommy's hand. I'll be right back." He put the child's hand in her mothers and scrambled to his feet. _'Hurry, Bart,'_ his mind told him, and he ran out the door and to the barn.

Janie must have been trying to get the horses hitched when everything started; the task was hallway completed. He hurriedly finished the job and guided the horses out of the barn and through the corral, stopping when he got them to the house. He ran in and picked up Sara Beth, carrying her back outside and depositing her in the wagon bed on a blanket he'd found in the barn and laid down for protection against the rough boards. With a few words of reassurance to the child, he rushed back to the bedroom and gently picked Janie Dupree up in his arms, hurrying as fast as he could with his precious cargo. He laid Janie down next to Sara Beth and scrambled back up on the wagon seat, doing his best to drive the horses forward with as little jostling as possible. As soon as he got them going at a good clip he turned his head to Sara Beth. She was gripping her mother's hand and looked terrified. "It's alright, honey, your momma's gonna have your sister or brother, we just have to hurry and get her to the doctor." Janie was doing some low-level moaning but was conscious for the most part, and she held onto her daughter's hand as tight as she dared. Bart drove the wagon down the road as fast as he could risk, trying not to cause any more jostling than necessary. He strained to remember where he'd seen the doctor's office and just as he arrived in town it came back to him – it was almost across the street from the café he'd eaten supper at.

The horses nearly skidded to a halt and Bart jumped down and rushed back to his helpless passengers. He got Sara Beth out first and set her gently on the ground. "You follow me," he told the little girl. Then he reached in and carefully picked up her mother, who was again loudly moaning, and carried her inside, past the front door that read 'John Fager, Doctor.' "Doc Fager," he yelled as he got into the front office, and a man that was obviously the doctor came running out. "She's havin' the baby," Bart informed him unnecessarily.

"Bring her back here," the doctor told him, and he carried Janie into the examine room carefully, Sara Beth clinging to his coat. "Where's Dalton?" the doctor asked, and Bart shook his head.

"Not home yet," he answered. "I found her on the floor." He laid her down on the exam table and grabbed Sara Beth's hand. "Do you need me for anything, Doc?"

"No, no, take Sara out of here," the doctor told him. "Go get the child some food, Mr.?"

"Jamison," Bart answered. "Family friend." He bent down and scooped Sara Beth up into his arms. "Come on, honey. Doc's gonna take care of your mommy now. We have to sit outside so he can do his job."

"Mommy!" Sara Beth screamed and clung even tighter to Bart. "Is Mommy going to die?"

"No, Sara, your mommy is not gonna die," Bart promised the child and carried her back into the waiting room. He sat her in a chair and closed the exam room door behind him. "Did your mother get to make you breakfast this mornin'?" Big tears started to roll down Sara Beth's face and she shook her head 'no.' "Are you hungry?" Once again, a shake of the head. "Not even for flapjacks?" the tears quickly stopped and a smile returned.

"Flapjacks? With maple syrup?" she asked.

"With all the maple syrup you want."

"Okay." He scooped her up again and carried her across the street to the café. There were few people inside and a waitress came right over. "We would like flapjacks for Miss Sara Beth, with a big glass of milk if you have any left. And lots of maple syrup. And just coffee for me, please."

The waitress nodded and hurried off, and the little girl looked at Bart solemnly. "You're sure Mommy's gonna be alright?"

"I'm sure. But when you see your momma again you're gonna be a big sister. What do you think about that?"

"I wanna little brother. I miss Thomas."

'You sure you want a brother? What if it's a sister instead?"

"Do we hafta keep it if it's a girl?"

Bart laughed. From what Pappy told him, Bret had said something similar before he was born. "Yes, Sara Beth, you hafta keep her. Your momma and daddy won't wanna give her back." Dalton. He wouldn't know where Janie or Sara Beth were when he got home. A minimum amount of investigation should give him some clues, with the horses and wagon gone. Surely he would figure it out.

In just a few minutes the child was happily chewing flapjacks and Bart was drinking another cup of coffee. Sara Beth was about halfway done with her breakfast when the sheriff entered the café. "Mr. Jamison. And Miss Sara Beth. What are you doin' in town? And where's your Momma?"

Bart got up from the table and took the sheriff by the elbow, moving him a few feet away from the table. "Mrs. Dupree is currently at Doc's office, havin' the baby. I rode out to the house this mornin' and found her. Got her here as fast as I could. Any idea when Dalton's due to be back?"

"No," the sheriff shook his head. "All I know is today. How is she?"

"Fine, I think. Doc told me to go feed Sara Beth, so that's what I did."

"Bart, is Mommy alright?" the little girl called out.

"Yes ma'am, she's doin' just fine," Bart told her. He turned back to the lawman. "I'll take her back over as soon as she's done with breakfast."

Sheriff Gage grinned. "She's really taken with you. Sara Beth's kinda . . . . . . "

"I know. Shy. Keep an eye out for Dalton, would ya? And send him on over?"

"Will do. Glad you went out there."

"I know," Bart sighed. "I am, too." They shook hands and the sheriff left the café. Bart returned to the table to find Sara Beth almost finished.

"I'm full," she announced and set her fork down.

"You sure?" Bart asked. She nodded in answer, and Bart picked up her fork and speared the last pieces of flapjack, putting them in his own mouth. "Thanks for leavin' me a bite."

"Welcome.," she giggled. "Can we go back to mommy now?" She looked at him expectantly.

"Yes, ma'am. Just let me pay for breakfast." He left money on the table and collected his young friend, walking her back across the street to the doctor's office. The exam room door was still closed but there were unfamiliar sounds coming from the room. Bart sat down in one of the chairs out front and Sara Beth crawled up into his lap. She leaned her head against his chest and in just a few minutes she'd fallen asleep. He shifted slightly and put his arm around her, to keep her from sliding off. They sat that way for almost half an hour until he heard a soft cry; Baby Dupree had been born.

Before the doctor could come out and say anything the front door opened and a man strode in. Somewhere near forty years old, he was tall and slim; hard muscled, with reddish-blonde hair just like the child asleep in Bart's arms. "Sara Beth?" he asked, and the little girl stirred, opened her eyes and smiled.

"Daddy!" she cried and slid down off Bart's lap. Obviously Dalton Dupree. But this man was not the gunslinger George Henry that he'd encountered in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Bart blinked and stared at the person in front of him. What was going on?


	13. The World Turned Upside Down

Chapter 12 – The World Turned Upside Down

They stared at each other for a long minute before anyone spoke, and the silence was broken by the little girl. "Bart brought us to town so Mommy could have the baby."

The new father offered his hand, and Bart stood from the chair and took it. "Thank you, but who – "

"I'll explain later. Go see your wife and baby."

Still looking as confused as Bart felt, Dalton carried his daughter into the exam room and closed the door behind him. The gambler knew from the squeal Sara Beth emitted that she'd gotten exactly what she wanted – a baby brother. He heaved a great sigh of relief and sat back down. In a few short minutes Doctor Fager came out from behind closed doors with a big grin on his face and a clean towel in his hands. "Good work, Mr. Jamison. You got her here just in time. We mighta had some problems otherwise."

"It's a boy?"

"Yep, a healthy baby boy. Everybody seems delighted. Of course, nobody can replace Thomas, but this goes a long way towards makin' that family whole again. Did you know Thomas?"

Bart shook his head. "No, I didn't."

"Fine lad. It was a real shame what happened. Now maybe the good Lord can finish his work with 'em. You'll excuse me?" The doctor went back into the exam room, and a few minutes later Dalton re-emerged still holding Sara Beth.

"Daddy, I don't wanna go to Aunt Julia's. I wanna stay here with you an mommy and the baby an Bart."

"Sara Beth, you hafta go to Julia's. Your mommy's got her hands full right now, and Bart and me got some things we gotta talk about." He turned to the gambler. "I'll just be a few minutes, alright?"

"Take your time," came the reply.

Dalton left carrying Sara Beth and Bart sat back down. He was glad to be alone, with no one to worry about, for a few minutes. His mind was whirling with possibilities, none of which seemed plausible at this point. If this was Dalton Dupree, where was George Henry? And who was George Henry? And if this man really wasn't the missing Dupree, who was he? Had Bess and almost everyone else been wrong?

Bart leaned back in the chair. He gave up trying to figure it out; he was still missing too much information. He'd waited this long for an answer, it wouldn't hurt to wait a little longer.

A few minutes later he went outside to smoke a cigar and watch for Dupree's return. It was about half gone when he saw the man walking up the street. He took another draw on the stogie and threw the rest away. Dalton seemed every bit as confused as Bart; that was evident from the look on his face.

"Is there someplace we can talk?"

Dupree nodded. "Doc's got a back room he rarely uses. I'm sure we can talk in there." The two men walked back inside the doctor's offices; Dalton knocked on the door marked 'Private' and stuck his head in. Bart could hear the soft hum of voices and in just a minute they were both headed for the back room.

Once inside, Bart closed the door and leaned against one of the boxes that Doc had stacked against the wall. "I'm sure this'll sound as funny out loud as it does in my head. I know who you are – but who are you?"

The other man laughed. "One things for sure – I'm that new baby's father. Don't you know? I'm Dalton Dupree."

Bart quietly responded, "Dalton Dupree and George Henry, notorious gunslinger, are supposed to be the same person. You're not George Henry."

Dalton laughed again. "Ah, how do you know I'm not?"

"Because George Henry was employed as a bodyguard by a miserable human being named Seth Johnson for a poker match in Cheyenne. When it was all done and I'd won, Henry stole over one-hundred-fifty thousand dollars of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association money. Some of that money belonged to me. You're not the man that stole it."

"And just who are you? Because I got the feelin' your name ain't Bart Jamison."

Bart's turn to laugh, but he thought better of it before answering. "That's where you're wrong. My name is Bart Jamison. Bart Jamison Maverick."

"Maverick? The gambler?"

"One of 'em, yeah. That still doesn't answer my question. Who are you?"

There was only one logical explanation left, and Bart knew he had to be right before Dalton ever admitted to it. "My real name's George Henry Bowers. Guess we both did the same thing, huh?"

"No, we didn't. If you're the real George Henry, then who . . . . . . . "

"The real Dalton Dupree."

XXXXXXXX

"It's a long story, so I'm glad you were willing to come back out to the house with me. I'd rather not explain everything where someone that shouldn't hear it could."

"Does that include your wife?" Janie Dupree and her new baby boy were sleeping soundly in their room; Sara Beth playing happily in hers. Bart and Dalton had worked together and gotten all three back home safe and sound.

"No, Janie knows who I was before I met her. But she's the only one that does. And now you. I hope once you've heard the whole story you'll keep the truth to yourself, Bart."

"I'm not promisin' anything. But I'm willin' to listen." They were sitting at the kitchen table, each one nursing a cup of coffee.

"George Henry Bowers was raised on a pig farm in Georgia. His mama and daddy decided to go west to Texas, and packed up everything when he was just nine. George Henry got to Texas alive; his mama and daddy didn't. They got caught in an Indian raid and died right before George Henry turned ten. He didn't have no other relatives, so he went to work for a cattle rancher. Mean bastard named Silas Dodge. Silas taught him to ride an rope, to shoot a gun, and the most important thing of all – to hate. George Henry got real good at all a those, and when he was old enough, he killed Silas and fled to Colorado. He made his reputation as a gunfighter, then a hired gun, then a contract killer. When he was twenty-four he met a pretty little thing named Janie Milburn and fell in love. I mean head-over-heels, once in a lifetime love. And that was a problem, because he wanted to marry the girl, and he couldn't as long as he remained George Henry.

"Two or three years pass, and he runs across another kid with a similar feelin' story. Father deserted mother, married somebody else, disappeared out of the boy's life – when the kid gets old enough he goes lookin' for the old man, an finds him. Settles in to try and help the father and his second family – and the abuse starts. Finally he can't take anymore and runs away, becomes part of a gang out of Wakestone, Texas. The same gang that George Henry is ridin' with. They get to talkin', comparin' lives. They're not so very different. George Henry's fast with a gun, so's Dalton Dupree. George Henry's tired of hatin' the world; Dalton Dupree's just gettin' started.

"And then one of 'em has an idea. It don't matter which one has it, he talks to the other one about it. The more they talk, the better it sounds. It just might work. They talk about it some more. They talk about it for the next six months. They start tellin' each other their life stories. They just keep talkin' about it. And then one day somethin' happens; it don't much matter what it was. They decide to do it, and they assume each other's identities. They both leave the gang. One heads to Kansas and gets a job as a hired gun; the other one goes back to Louisiana and finds out that Janie Milburn still ain't married. And he tells her all about his new life, and new name, and asks her to marry him. And to his surprise, she says yes. And George Henry, now Dalton Dupree, marries Janie Milburn and settles down on a farm in Lake Charles, Louisiana. And pretty soon they have a boy they name Thomas. Thomas Henry Dupree. And then a few years later they have a girl named Sara Beth Dupree. I believe Janie Milburn Dupree told you the rest of the story."

"You really do work as a cotton broker?" Bart asked.

"That I do," Dalton answered. "And I work the farm. And I built the church. And I'm getting' ready to start addin' on to the house. I thought at first I'd die after we lost Thomas, then I wanted to kill somethin'. I'd been workin' on the church but I didn't really believe in God, but after Thomas was gone somethin' changed. I saw what the Lord could do inside me, if I'd just let him, and that's what got us through. Seems to me George Henry could use some a that, if he'd lose that hate he carries around inside him."

"Was it George Henry that killed Hanford Dupree?"

Dalton shook his head. "I don't know for sure, I can only assume so. I haven't seen him in years. When we were puttin' the church together somebody wired the buildin' fund one thousand dollars, with a telegram that just said 'Thanks.' I assume it was him.

"That's all I can tell ya, Mr. Maverick. I'm sorry for George Henry stealin' from you and the cattlemen, but nothin' I could say or do would make a bit a difference. It seems he embraced his new identity just like I embraced mine. He is George Henry and I am Dalton Dupree. Unless you blow the whistle on us."

Bart sat for just a minute, contemplating his choices, then raised his head. He reached his hand across the table and shook hands with the man that had told him the long, long story. "I'm pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Dupree."


	14. A Flash of Light

Chapter 13 – A Flash of Light

Dalton and Janie teamed up on Bart to convince him to leave the hotel and come stay at their house for two or three days before heading back to Delmont. He was about to tell them 'no ' for the final time when they sent in their secret weapon, Sara Beth, and once again he found himself unable to turn down a lady. He took the little girls room, and she slept with her mama, daddy and baby George Thomas. Spending a few days with the family was an eye-opening experience.

Sara Beth was his shadow – everywhere Bart went, so did the little girl. It was a case of total and complete love, and the feeling was mutual. Bart showed her everything she needed to know about Taffy and how to take care of him, and Sara Beth taught Bart everything she could about her dolls and the attention and feeding of same. Once the little girl was fast asleep at night, Dalton told tales about growing up on a pig farm and Bart explained the intricacies of being a gambler's son. Neither had anything to gain by getting to know the other, but get to know each other they did. Dalton was fascinated with the whole Maverick clan, and Bart for once in his life envied the joys of being a family man.

Baby George Thomas was a real eye-opener. Bart was captivated by the tiny hands and feet, and the fragility and helplessness of the newborn. The gambler had never spent any time with anyone that small, and after a few days at the farm he was both thrilled to be leaving and sad to say farewell. He'd come to Lake Charles looking for someone who no longer existed, and walked away having found a man who had quickly become a friend.

After he packed up and got ready to leave the farm to return to Delmont, he and Dalton sat down and had a frank discussion about Bess Dupree. "I don't know what I'm gonna tell her, Dalton. She's not the kind of woman to accept 'I couldn't find your brother' as an answer. And I can't tell her the truth – I don't know what she's liable to do. She could ruin more than one life just on a whim."

"You'll figure somethin' out. Do what you need to do to keep Bess out of your hair. We'll be fine here."

Janie walked out into the front room slowly, the baby in her arms, Sara Beth trailing behind her. "Baby George came to say goodbye to you. Do you want to hold him again?"

"Sure," Bart told his proud mama and took the small bundle from her. "You grow up to be a good boy, George. Just like your poppa did. Only don't take quite so long to do it, huh?" Right on cue, George Thomas gurgled his approval, and Bart bent his head to plant a kiss on the tiny one's forehead. He handed the baby to his father and gave Janie a hug.

"Thank you for everything," she whispered in his ear.

"You're welcome," he whispered back. He turned loose of her and searched around like he'd forgotten something. "Let's see, wasn't there somethin' else I was supposed to do?" He looked down and feigned surprise to see Sara Beth. "Well I'll be danged, there is someone I forgot." He bent down and picked the girl up and hugged her tight. In response she threw her arms around his neck.

"Don't want you to go."

"I know, honey, I don't wanna go, either. But I have to go back to Texas. There's a lady there waitin' to talk to me."

"Is it your wife?"

They all laughed. "No, Sara Beth, I don't have one of those. I'm gonna wait for you to grow up." He planted a kiss on her cheek.

"You better," she said firmly. "Y'all come back and visit me, Bart."

"I will, baby doll. I promise." He handed her to Dalton, who'd given the baby back to his mother.

"Thank you for everything, but especially for takin' good care of my wife and son when they needed you." Dalton put out his hand and Bart shook it readily. "You come back and visit us, would ya?"

"I will, Dalton. You never know when I'll be back through these parts. Goodbye, Dupree family. Just keep lovin' each other."

Bart walked out to the porch and mounted his horse for the trip back to Lake Charles. In about an hour he'd be on a stage headed for Delmont, Texas, and Bess Dupree. God help him.

XXXXXXXX

Bart kept trying to figure out what to tell Bess. Every time he thought he had an acceptable explanation for her, he found enough flaws to punch holes in it. It took him a day and a half to get there, and when the stage pulled into Delmont he still didn't know what he was going to say. Luckily, Bess wasn't at the stage depot and wasn't even in town.

Bart went back to his room at the hotel and then wandered down to the livery. Noble whinnied and snorted, glad to have his friend back, and Bart produced the requisite apple. Once again the gelding practically swallowed it whole, core and all, and the gambler didn't have the heart to tell his horse not to. He stayed for over an hour, grooming 'the old man,' and discussed the Dalton/George/Bess situation at length with the animal. Unfortunately Noble had no answers for him, either. It was late afternoon and Bart wanted supper, so he patted the gelding on the neck and promised, "We'll go out tomorrow." Anything to put off the explanation he didn't have until later.

When he came away from the livery he walked up the street to the sheriff's office. Trainer was sitting at his desk with a deck of cards, playing solitaire. "I can teach you a more challengin' game than that," Bart told him as he walked in.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"The family calls it Maverick solitaire, and this is how it goes . . . . . " Bart's voice trailed off as he picked up the sheriff's deck and shuffled, ending as always before he dealt the cards with the one handed ruffle that he'd done since he was a child. Sometimes the hand that had been broken in Mexico bothered him a bit when he did it, but not today.

"Pretty fancy shufflin'."

"It comes with familiarity. Now you start out by dealin' twenty-five cards . . . . . " Bart explained the whole thing while showing Trainer what he meant.

The sheriff was fascinated. "And you say this works over ninety percent of the time?"

"Ninety-two percent, to be exact. Better odds than chasin' after a contract killer or a half-brother."

"That's right, you been gone for a while. How'd you do?"

"Not bad, considerin'."

"Considerin' what?"

And just like that, it came to him. Why hadn't he seen it before? _'Forest for the trees, Brother Bart,'_ he heard in his head, in his brother's voice.

"Considerin' what?" the sheriff repeated.

"Huh? Oh, never mind. I'll explain later. I got somethin' to take care of right now." Bart picked himself up from the corner of Trainer's desk where he'd been sitting, and hurried back out and across the street, to the telegraph office. Not only had the truth of what happened the day Hanford Dupree was killed come to him, he suddenly realized where his brother was and sent a telegram to Bret Maverick, General Delivery, Willow Springs, Texas. If he was right, he'd have an answer by tomorrow. If he wasn't he'd have to rethink the next month of his life.

He left the telegraph office and went back to the hotel, where he arranged for a bath to be drawn and went upstairs to shave. He was going to supper and then poker. And see if Lady Luck was still speaking to him.


	15. And the Truth Shall Set You Free

Chapter 14 – And the Truth Shall Set You Free

The next morning he slept in, having played poker until almost dawn. All in all, not a bad night. It was the first time he'd slept late in weeks, and it felt good just to lie in bed and know that he'd worked out all the inconsistencies and inaccuracies that had plagued him; he was confident he was right. Bess Dupree had insisted on hiring him to do a job he didn't want to do. And whether she liked the end result or not, that's just what he had done.

It was past lunch time before he got down to the dining room, but he felt better than he had for a while. That voice in his head that told him he was a 'failure, worthless, no-talent drifter' had shut up, hopefully forever, and just to make everything feel right again, he'd heard from Brother Bret. He was in Willow Springs, as had been suspected, and would wait there for Bart to arrive. Then it would be on to Dallas to pick up Cousin Beau, with the three of them continuing to New Orleans. It was the first extended trip that Beau had taken since his wife's death, and the brothers were determined to show him a good time.

But first the matter at hand. As soon as he'd had a meal of some kind he'd go to the livery and take care of Noble, then ride out to Bess Dupree's ranch. There was just one stop he had to make on the way out to see her, but he hoped that wouldn't take long. The meeting with Bess, however, would probably occupy most of the day, and he would be glad when it was over.

Within the hour he was saddling the big buckskin gelding, who was once again acting like a young colt. "Gettin' spoiled, aren't ya old man?" Bart asked as he reached into his pocket for the awaited treat. "Think I oughta eat this myself?" He pretended to take a bite and Noble shook his head and nickered in protest. "You're right, I've already eaten. It's all yours," and he held the apple out for the gelding to take. Which he did, gently and carefully, and then nodded happily as he actually took the time to chew it. "Well, that's much more polite, even if ya did still eat the core," the gambler remarked, and the big buckskin eyed him as if to say, "Whatta ya want? I'm a horse!"

He made his stop on the way out of town and was surprised when it took him longer than he expected. What happened after he left was out of his hands – that decision belonged to the person he'd spoken to.

Noble was all over the road to the Dupree ranch, scooting and scampering everywhere, so happy and joyous to be out of the livery that it took the pair of them almost twice as long to get where they were going. When the ranch was finally within sight the gelding took off at a gallop and arrived by skidding to a halt in front of the house. When the cloud of dust settled from their arrival, Bart spotted Bess on the front porch laughing. "A little happy to be out of the livery, is he?" she called down, and all Bart could do was nod.

"Do you mind if I turn him out?"

"No, not at all. Maybe he'll work some of that energy off," she called. She watched Bart unsaddle the gelding and lead him over to the corral, where he turned the buckskin loose with a slap on the rump. Noble almost jumped and ran for the horses gathered at the other end of the fence.

Bess was still chuckling when Bart got back to the porch. She patted the seat of the rocker next to hers. "Come sit down. How about some sweet tea?"

"That'd be great, Bess. Thanks." The ranch owner got up and disappeared into the house, returning in a few minutes with two full glasses. "You're in a good mood," Bart pointed out when she returned.

"Why not? You're back; I assume you have answers for me."

Bart nodded as he took the glass of tea from her. "I do, but I'm not sure you're gonna like 'em."

"Are they the truth?" she eyed him suspiciously.

He removed his hat and set it on his lap. "They are. Lying to you would be foolish."

Bess smiled cryptically. "Yes, it would."

He started on the story, telling her about his trip to New Orleans and his never-ending search through the parish archives. He avoided telling her of the lack of divorce records for her father and hoped that she wouldn't question him any further on the matter, and it appeared that she wasn't going to. He was just as happy to gloss over that portion of her father's life; it would serve no purpose to inform her that her mother and father were illegally wed.

He continued, explaining what he'd learned about Helene, and then from Helene, omitting her married name and exactly where she lived. He also chose to overlook some of her uncle's vivid tales of Hanford's demeanor and manipulative ways. Again, the man was dead and he saw no purpose in disclosing some of the darker aspects of his character. He stopped before telling her anything about Dalton, the Dupree family, or George Henry; including who they actually were and how they'd come to be. He sat for a minute or two, letting her take it all in before he presented her with the piece de resistance – the truth she never expected to hear.

"Did you find my half-brother or not?" Bess finally asked.

"Yes," Bart answered, ' _and no'_ he thought.

"Then where is he?"

"That's not important anymore," Bart began.

"YES, IT IS!" Bess all but shouted, the good mood entirely disappeared.

"Let me finish," Bart insisted. "Dalton Dupree didn't kill his father. The man you saw that day, the man that shot your father in the back, is –"

"MY BROTHER!" In her anger and hate for the man, even Bess had failed to call him her half-brother.

"No, Bess. The man that murdered your father is Pete Trainer."

"Wh – what?"

The gambler nodded, having confirmed the truth when he stopped at the sheriff's office before riding out to the ranch.

"Pete?"

"That's right. Pete Trainer. He had his reasons, Bess, but you have to ask him what they were."

"You . . . you spoke to Pete?"

He nodded again. "I did. Right before I came out to see you."

"And he admitted shooting my father?"

"Not quite that cut and dried, but yes, he admitted it."

"But – but – he was at the Ferris ranch."

"No, he went to the Ferris ranch when he was done here. That's why he rode east. He intended to go there when he left his office, but he stopped to see Hanford along the way. He can tell you the rest."

"Why, Bart? Hanford and Pete were friends."

"Why don't I hitch up the buggy, Bess, and take you into town? Pete can explain himself. I asked him if he'd tell you the story, and he promised he would."

She shook her head. Most of the anger in her had been replaced by profound sadness. "I don't know what to say to him."

He reached over and took her hand in his. She was shaking. "Just ask him your questions, Bess, same as you've asked me. He'll give you answers."

Bess Dupree hung her head and gripped his hand tightly. "Alright. I'll go with you. Leave your horse here?"

"I will."

XXXXXXXX

It was silent all the way into Delmont. There was nothing more for Bart to say, and Bess was too stunned to speak. When they pulled up in front of the sheriff's office, all the shades were drawn shut and Bart got down hurriedly and went inside to make sure that Trainer was still there. When he emerged from the office he helped Bess out of the buggy and followed her in, then turned to leave. Bess quickly reached for his arm and stopped him from going. "Bart, please stay," she begged softly.

He looked at the sheriff, and Pete nodded his approval. "Alright." And he took a seat on the other side of the sheriff's desk. Bess sat in the chair right next to the desk, but Pete remained standing, albeit facing the jail cells. No one said anything for a minute or two, then the sheriff slowly began his tale.

"I watched what Hanford did to that poor boy. What he did to Dalton was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I couldn't let him do it to you, too. And he'd started to. I could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice. He'd gotten so used to takin' everything out on Dalton that he couldn't stop. And when Dalton left and your mother passed, he only had you to abuse.

"I don't mean physically. Lord knows Hanford wouldn't raise a hand to you. He did it in other ways. The perplexed look. The sarcastic remark. The question asked in a baffled tone of voice. The unreasonable demands on your time and attention. I warned him, time and time again. I told him to stop. Begged him to stop. He would, for a day or two, and then the abuse started again. His only goal in life became to make you so miserable that you'd never look at another person with anything but pain and distrust. So that you'd be too uncertain of yourself to ever leave him."

"But I never would have!" Bess interrupted.

"Yes, you would. Remember Marty Powell?"

Bess had to think for a minute. "Marty Powell? When I was seventeen? It was a harmless crush, a girlish fixation."

"No, Bess, it was more than that. You loved that boy. I could see it. Hanford could see it, too. That's when he really stepped things up." Trainer had turned and was facing Bess as he talked. Now he leaned his hands on the back of his chair and gripped it as tightly as he could. "And I couldn't let it happen to you. You were so bright, so sweet and trustin'. You couldn't understand what he'd begun to do to you. Remember when you talked to me after church one Sunday? And a few weeks later when you came to town with Hanford? You were in tears because you didn't understand what was happenin' between the two of you."

Trainer stopped and waited for Bess to say something. At long last she did, very quietly. "I remember, Pete." She'd been looking down at the ground; now she raised her eyes and stared right at the man that shot her father. "What happened that day, Pete? Why did you shoot him?"

The sheriff let go of his chair and half fell, half leaned against the wall behind him. "I . . . . I didn't intend to. I stopped to see him, to try talkin' to him one more time. He laughed it off. Said you were his daughter and he was just tryin' to toughen you up to the ways of the world. Said as long as he was alive he'd act any way he wanted to. Turned his back on me, as if darin' me to do somethin', anything about it." The jail was deathly silent for a moment. "Then I did."

The three people in the room sat there, no sound anywhere except the ticking of the clock on the wall. Bart finally broke the silence. "Tell her the rest of it, sheriff." Trainer looked over at Maverick, and the gambler nodded. Pete pulled away from the wall, standing straight for a moment, then drew his chair back from the desk and sat down. When he spoke again, he was calm and subdued.

"I couldn't take the chance of him breakin' your heart, and your spirit. I was in love with you."


	16. Daylight

Chapter 15 – Daylight

Once more the room fell still and silent. Bart watched and waited to see what would happen next – these two lost souls whose very lives hung in the balance, and whose fate was in each other's hands.

"I-I-I-I-I don't know what to say," Bess practically whispered, as she stared at the man that had just admitted to murder, and love. "I never knew."

Trainer watched Bess for a moment and then looked back down. "Of course you didn't. You were too young. And I was a friend of your fathers." He paused, then added, "Until I wasn't."

"You let me . . . . . you let me go on thinking it was Dalton. All these years. Why didn't you tell me?"

Bart finally spoke up. "He couldn't, Bess. He's the sheriff. If he told you, he stood to lose a lot more than just the hope of you ever lovin' him back."

The enormity of what he'd done was finally out in the open, and Pete let out a long breath. "He's right, Bess. I couldn't tell you Dalton was innocent, because then I'd have to tell ya how I knew. I didn't wanna hang for murder. Still don't. Guess there's not much choice in the matter anymore." He slowly unpinned the badge from his shirt and set it on the desk. "I'll tell the mayor to send for a U.S. Marshall. Then they can get a judge and file formal charges. I'm sorry, Bess. I'm sorry for doin' the wrong thing. Ain't nothin' I can say or do to make it right."

Her voice was so soft that Bart wasn't sure he heard her correctly. "Yes, there is."

"What?" The sheriff asked, almost as quietly. "I'll do whatever you want me to."

Bess reached over and picked up the badge, handing it back to Trainer. "Put this back on."

The sheriff stared at her for almost a full minute before taking the badge and doing as she asked. Then he turned his attention to the gambler, still sitting on the other side of the desk. "Anything you wanna say?"

"Me? Nope, not a thing." He looked across the desk at Bess. "You ready to go home?"

She nodded. "Yes, please. The sheriff has work to do, I'm sure." She stood up and walked towards the front of the office, Bart hurrying after her to get the door. They stepped out into the late afternoon sun and he helped her up into the buggy.

"Ready?"

She nodded again. "I am."

The ride back out to the ranch was just as silent as the ride in. Bart had no criticism one way or the other, the decision hadn't been his to make. After all was said and done it seemed reasonable to him; everyone involved had suffered enough. As they pulled up in front of the house, Bess at last asked a question. "Stay for supper?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes, ma'am. Be happy to."

XXXXXXXX

They were quiet through most of supper; it wasn't conversation that Bess needed most right now, it was the company of another human being. Bart was willing to fulfill that need.

After supper they sat in the main room of the house and shared a brandy and coffee. She handed him an envelope with five one-thousand dollar bills in it. "What I owe you. You absolutely earned it."

"Thanks. Thought maybe you'd regret spendin' it."

She shook her head and smiled, a wan, sad little smile. "No. I might have gotten more than I bargained for, but you certainly did what I asked you to do."

"Even if I didn't bring your half-brother back?"

"Especially since you didn't bring my half-brother back. Whatever Dalton's life is like, he deserves to be left in peace. "

"So do you."

The smile got a little brighter. "I am at peace. I know that my brother didn't kill my father. "

"And Pete?"

"Poor Pete. He's punished himself all these years for protecting a child. How could I punish him more?"

"You sure that's all there is to it?" Bart couldn't help asking. The tone of her voice – the look on her face. Were there emotions there she couldn't or wouldn't acknowledge?

She looked at him then, as if reading his mind, and shook her head again. "Yes, that's all there is. I don't love Pete. Care about him, yes. Love him . . . no. No matter why he did what he did, he still killed my father. I just don't want him punished anymore."

Bart finished his coffee and set the cup down. "I should go. It's been a long day."

"Where do you go from here?"

"To Little Bend, to leave my horse at my Uncle's place. Then on to Dallas."

"Coming back this way? You could leave your horse here and catch the stage for Dallas tomorrow."

Bart smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks. We're goin' on to New Orleans from Dallas, don't know how long we'll be gone."

"We?" The woman asked.

"Me an my brother."

"Ah yes, another gambler. I remember."

He got up and walked to the door, then leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "Goodbye, Bess. And good luck." The gambler opened the door and went out into the night, headed for the corral and his large, capricious buckskin gelding.

XXXXXXXX

He rode back into town, right past the sheriff's office. The shades were open, along with the front door, and he could hear yelling coming from inside. "Mr. Ferris, I told you what was gonna happen the next time one a your boys got into mischief. Now what kind of a lawman would I be if I let them get away with it again?"

Bart laughed and shook his head. Some things never changed.

XXXXXXXX

The next morning he got up and packed, had breakfast and went to the telegraph office. He sent the first wire to Bret in Willow Springs, giving his date of arrival. He sent the second to Helene Plessis, and it read:

 _Rest easy._

 _Dalton Dupree did not murder his father._

 _I have proof._

 _Bart Maverick_

He had nothing to gain by sending the telegram, but was pleased to know that it might afford the woman some peace of mind. And it was the absolute truth. As for George Henry, God only knew where he was, or even if he was alive or dead. Somebody would catch up with the gunslinger someday, but it probably wouldn't be him. That was all well and good, as far as he was concerned. One encounter with the man was more than enough.

As he rode out of Delmont and north towards Little Bend, midnight crossed his mind once more. No more standing in the dark, wondering how he'd gotten to such a place in his life. From now on he was gonna leave that particular habit to the real bottom-feeders of the world. He had better things to do with his time.


End file.
